WHITEWASH
die," said Mrs. Ford, scornfully. "Well, I'll leave you to your favorite contemplation of yourself—much joy may you get out of it this time!"
With her silken gown flying about her like waving banners, the drum-major marched to the door, which she closed with a bang that made Philippa start with pain, and proceeded down the hallway to her own apartments. In its seclusion she was pushed and packed into her precise tailor costume, the net removed from her hair, her finger-nails duly polished, and her fingers loaded with a choice assortment of rings. Then, with a last glance at her image in the pier-glass, she descended to the drawing-room to await the coming of her ex-nephew-to-be. She moved about, busily readjusting Sèvres, Dresden figures, and Dutch-silver toys. She rearranged her collection of miniatures in the glass-topped show-table, and wound up the gilt and enamel clock on the mantel shelf. Mrs. Ford was always busy with some superfluity when she was not engaged in her favorite pursuit of advancing her social importance.
