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There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o'clock, on the chance that you may care to come. Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest." Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate, "Miss Briskett and party" written on the corner.
Mrs Moffatt gasped for breath, her face twitched convulsively, and she tottered as she stood. "You mean that? Oh, God bless you, Cornelia Briskett! If there are any blessings going, there's no one on earth deserves them more than you. You've saved me this time. Whatever happens in the future, you've given me a chance." "That's so, but the question is, are you going to take it?
I'll just chip in, and take you as you are. We'll have some high old times! Your niece, Cornelia." Letter and eye-glasses fell together upon Mrs Ramsden's knee. She raised startled eyes, and blinked dumbly at her friend. Miss Briskett wagged her head from side to side, and heaved a sepulchral sigh. The halcyon days of peace were over!
Miss Briskett had counted on a protracted orgy of tea-parties in her niece's honour, and had already planned a return bout on her own accord, to set the ball rolling a second time. Her wildest flight of fancy had not soared beyond tea, and here was Cornelia showing signs of rebellion at the end of a fortnight!
"But we have a very nice line in kid gloves; can I show you something in that line this morning?" Miss Briskett refused to be tempted, and produced a coin from her purse in payment of a small account. Cornelia was interested to be introduced to "hef-a-crown," and tried to calculate what would be left after the subtraction of a mysterious "seven-three."
Let's go right along then, and see if we ken't lay in a store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will you order a cab?" ... Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett! The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed!
"Grace Lavine is dead, and we did it, turning the rope for her!" "Grace Lavine dead?" repeated the dumfounded doctor. "Yes! yes!" "Where is she?" "Papa just carried her into her house." Without waiting to hear more, Doctor Briskett ran toward the Lavine residence, around which quite a crowd had now collected. In the crowd was Bert. "Is Grace really dead?" he asked. "I I guess so," answered Nan.
The sort of girl whom people would stare at in the street; the sort of girl whom Norton would emphatically disapprove! Her hair in itself was arresting. Miss Briskett had never seen such hair. It was not red, it was not gold, it was not brown; but rather a blending of all three colours.
When persuasion failed to convince Miss Briskett that an elephant grey exactly matched her silvery fragment "I'll see if we have it in stock!" cried the damsel, hopefully, and promptly disappeared into space. The minutes passed by; Cornelia frowned and fidgeted, was introduced to a fourth dame, and declared that England was "'cute."
This room also was empty, but even as she grasped the fact, Miss Briskett started with dismay to behold a bareheaded figure leaning over the garden gate, elbows propped on the topmost bar, and chin supported on clasped hands. This time she did not pause to determine what commands she should issue in the future, but stepped hastily down the path to take immediate and peremptory measures.
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