slowly crimsoned with indignation. While she meditated a sufficiently crushing retort, her opportunity for making it was cut short by the first speaker.
"Where's she going to sit then?" enquired Miss Hooley, refusing macaroni with the air of one wearied with an oft repeated performance.
"There, of course," returned Miss Rigg, sniffing again, as she nodded in the direction of a small table near the wall.
At the table indicated a young man was already seated. His shamefaced manner of glancing about the room while he eat his soup, not only proclaimed him a fresh arrival, but one somewhat overwhelmed by the eternal feminine.
"That's too bad of you," stammered Miss Mullins. "Poor little thing!—under the circumstances too."
"The very circumstances you'd expect it under," returned Miss Rigg, with an acrimony as obvious as her sentence was obscure."
"I agree with Miss Mullins entirely. Potatoes raw again," exclaimed Miss Hooley.
During the course of the dinner, Mrs. Lawrence learnt to disentangle this lady's ejaculations about the food, from the main trend of her conversation, but the effect was at first confusing.
"She's very late," ventured Miss Pembridge diluting with filtered water the dangerous strength of her vin ordinaire.
"Got to dress up for the occasion of course," was Miss Rigg's instant explanatinon. "Ah! here she comes, at last.
