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Wintermill, for instance: she was sixty-two or three, and had but recently come into a string of pearls not a whit more valuable than the one that now adorned her neck and lay hidden beneath the warm fur collar of her coat. Her calculations suddenly hit upon something that could be used as a basis. Mrs. Wintermill's pearls had cost sixty-five thousand dollars. Sixty-five thousand dollars!
Mrs. Wintermill's first remark after saying that she was glad to see Anne looking so well was obviously the result of a quick and searching glance around the room. "Isn't Percy here?" she inquired. Anne had just had an uncomfortable half minute on the telephone with Percy. "Not unless he is hiding behind that couch over there, Mrs. Wintermill," she said airily. "He is coming up later, I believe."
I'd give a thousand dollars, if I had it, to see old Mrs. Wintermill's face if that remark could be repeated to her." A faint smile played about his mother's lips. After all, there was honest tribute in the speech of this son of hers. "It would be worse than a bloody nose for Percy," said Anne, slipping an arm around her mother's waist. "But I don't like what you said about me and the dressmakers.
Wintermill, that Braden would consent to—But, why should I insult him by attempting to defend him when no defence is necessary? I know him well enough to say that he would not operate on James Marraville for all the money in the world unless he believed that there was a chance to pull him through." She spoke rapidly and rather too intensely for Mrs. Wintermill's peace of mind.
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