indefinite yards of white lace to indefinite yards of white ruffles. Jane, in cool violet lawn, was reading aloud to her. Both looked up at his light knock at the side door.
“But I am afraid I interrupt,” he suggested politely, as he dropped into a low chair with a manner that betokened the assurance of a warm welcome.
“Not the least in the world,” Mrs. Leroy smiled whimsically.
“Lady is reading Pater to me for the good of my soul, and I am listening politely for the good of her manners,” she answered. “But it is a little wearing for us both, for she knows I don’t understand it, and I know she thinks me a little dishonest for pretending to.”
“Mother!”
The girl’s gray eyes opened wide above her cool, creamy cheeks; the deep dimples that made her mother’s face so girlish actually added a regularity and seriousness to the daughter’s soft chin. Her chestnut hair was thick and straight,
