All the while she rode with her face
directly forward.
"No," he said; "father hasn't written."
She flushed a little. "I expect I ought to've written sometime, or
one of the boys--"
"Oh no; that was all right."
"You can't think how busy we've all been this year, Bibbs. I often
planned to write--and then, just as I was going to, something would
turn up. And I'm sure it's been just the same way with Jim and
Roscoe. Of course we knew mamma was writing often and--"
"Of course!" he said, readily. "There's a chunk of coal fallen on
your glove, Edith. Better flick it off before it smears. My word!
I'd almost forgotten how sooty it is here."
"We've been having very bright weather this month--for us." She
blew the flake of soot into the air, seeming relieved.
He looked up at the dingy sky, wherein hung the disconsolate sun
like a cold tin pan nailed up in a smoke-house by some lunatic, for
a decoration. "Yes," said Bibbs. "It's very gay." A few moments
later, as they passed a corner, "Aren't we going home?" he asked.
"Why, yes! Did you want to go somewhere else first?"
"No. Your new driver's taking us out of the way, isn't he?"
"No.
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