. . only, of course, mine's a prettier color.
Sometime I'll come and comb yours for you, when you're tired out from
curing sick Indians. But now," and she jumped to her feet, "I'll go
out on the porch while you get dressed and then you come out, will you?
It's cool there under the awning, and I'll have Mr. Struve bring us out
some cold lemonade. But first, you do forgive me, don't you?"
Virginia's prompt assurance was incomplete when Florrie flitted out,
banging the door after her, headed toward the lounging-chairs on the
veranda.
"You pretty thing!" exclaimed Miss Florrie as Virginia joined her as
coolly and femininely dressed, if not quite as fluffily, as the
banker's daughter. "Oh, but you are quite the most stunning creature
that ever came into San Juan! Oh, I know all about myself; don't you
suppose I've stood in front of a glass by the long hours . . . wishing
it was a wishing-glass all the time and that I could turn a pug-nose
into a Grecian. I'm pretty; you're simply beautiful!"
"Look here, my dear," laughed Virginia, taking the chair which Florrie
had drawn close up to her own in the shade against the adobe wall, "you
have already made amends. It isn't necessary to . . ."
"I haven't half finished," cried Florrie emphatically. "You see it's a
way of mine to do things just by halves and quit there.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121