A white virginal muslin was belted around her
slim figure by a blue ribbon, and her Leghorn hat was drawn around her
oval cheek by a bow of the same color. She had a Southern girl's
narrow feet, encased in white stockings and kid slippers, which were
crossed primly before her as she sat in a chair, supporting her arm by
her faithful parasol planted firmly on the floor. A faint odor of
southernwood exhaled from her, and, oddly enough, stirred the Colonel
with a far-off recollection of a pine-shaded Sunday school on a
Georgia hillside and of his first love, aged ten, in a short, starched
frock. Possibly it was the same recollection that revived something of
the awkwardness he had felt then.
He, however, smiled vaguely and, sitting down, coughed slightly, and
placed his fingertips together. "I have had an--er--interview with Mr.
Hotchkiss, but--I--er--regret to say there seems to be no prospect
of--er--compromise." He paused, and to his surprise her listless
"company" face lit up with an adorable smile. "Of course!--ketch him!"
she said. "Was he mad when you told him?" She put her knees
comfortably together and leaned forward for a reply.
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