Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. She was the first to hear another car approaching from the street, an odd occurrence in an elementary school lot that had been abandoned for the weekend. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. . ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus.
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