To his inquiry the butler
said that Mrs. Bishop had recovered from her indisposition, and that
Miss Bishop would be down immediately. Orde had not long to wait
for her. The SWISH, PAT-PAT of her joyous descent of the stairs
brought him to his feet. She swept aside the portieres, and stood
between their folds, bidding him welcome.
"I'm so sorry about last night," said she, "but poor mother does
depend on me so at such times. Isn't it a gorgeous day to walk? It
won't be much like OUR woods, will it? But it will be something.
OH, I'm so glad to get out!"
She was in one of her elfish moods, the languid grace of her sleepy-
eyed moments forgotten. With a little cry of rapture she ran to the
piano, and dashed into a gay, tinkling air with brilliancy and
abandon. Her head, surmounted by a perky, high-peaked, narrow-
brimmed hat, with a flaming red bird in front, glorified by the
braid and "waterfall" of that day, bent forward and turned to flash
an appeal for sympathy toward Orde.
"There, I feel more able to stay on earth!" she cried, springing to
her feet. "Now I'll get on my gloves and we'll start."
She turned slowly before the mirror, examining quite frankly the
hang of her skirt, the fit of her close-cut waist, the turn of the
adorable round, low-cut collars that were then the mode.
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