"Wistaria's almost as tall as Philo, isn't she? A superb woman."
"I never saw her looking so well," agreed Hepatica, straightening chairs
and settling couch pillows, trailing here and there in her pretty frock
with all the energy of the early morning, as if it were not half-after
eleven by the little mantel clock. "Didn't you like her, dear?" She
threw an eager glance at me. She was in the restless mood of the hostess
who wishes to be assured that everything has gone well.
"I was charmed with her," said I--I had not meant to take a seat again;
I was weary and wanted to get away to bed--"I never knew how beautiful
an American Beauty rose was till I saw it beneath her face."
The Skeptic turned in his chair and looked at me. "Well done!" he cried.
"Couldn't have said it better myself. We must tell Philo that speech.
He'll be deeply gratified. He has every confidence in your taste."
"The dinner was perfect," I went on. "I never imagined one so cleverly
planned. And everybody seemed in great spirits--there wasn't a dull
moment.
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