Dahlia
was looking pinker than ever, and I thought the Philosopher's tan had
rather a pinkish hue, also. I felt obliged to ask Dahlia to stay to
luncheon and she promptly accepted. Throughout the meal she was very
gay, sitting at my round table between the Philosopher and the Skeptic,
and plying both with attentions. It is a singular phrase to use, in
speaking of a girl, but I know no other that applies so well--in
Dahlia's case.
After luncheon the Philosopher bolted. His movements are usually
deliberate, but I never saw a quicker exit made from a dining-room which
has only two doors. One door leads into the hall, the other to the
pantry. The rest of us went out the hall door. When we reached the porch
the Philosopher was missing. There is no explanation except that he went
out by the pantry door.
On the porch the Skeptic said, "I must run down to the barn and look
after Skylark's foot. He cut himself when I was out on him yesterday."
He hastened away down the driveway.
Dahlia looked after him.
"Is Skylark here?" she asked.
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