"Winthrop Laine! Of all people!" Miss French held out her hand.
"From what loophole were you watching this passing show for man's
derision given? May I come in?"
"You may."
Miss French moved behind the palms and pushed a tall leaf aside.
"You and I are too old for these things, Winthrop. I don't know why
I come--to get away from myself, I suppose. Look at that Miss
Cantrell! She parades her bones as if they were a private collection
of which she was proud! And did you ever see anything as hideous as
that gown Miss Gavins has on? Paris green couldn't be more deadly.
I heard Mathilda Hickman tell her just now to be sure and wear it to
her dinner next week, it was so becoming; and only yesterday she was
shrieking over it at a luncheon where everybody was talking about it,
Mr. Trehan is to be at the dinner, and Mathilda wants every woman to
look her worst. Hello! There comes Channing and Hope and the cousin
from the country. Rather a nice sort of person, awfully young and
inexperienced, but--" She put up her lorgnette. "They are talking
to Miss Cantrell. Miss Keith is not becoming to Miss Cantrell, or
Miss Gavins, either. Her shoulders are excellent and her head
perfectly poised. That white dress suits her. Have you been in the
dining-room?"
Laine came from behind the palms.
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