"
"I'll take my sewing," she told him, trying to be as matter-of-fact
as he was. "That is, if you don't mind."
She was smiling as happily as a child over being allowed to go, and
he smiled down at her, pleased, too.
"Not unless it's too big," he told her with an attempt at firmness
which failed utterly.
She went off, singing under her breath, as usual, to get a very
small sewing-bag, with a little piece of to-be-hemstitched pink silk
in it, and John looked over at his mother.
"She certainly has the prettiest ways!" he said involuntarily.
"You're a good lover, Johnny," his mother rejoined appreciatively.
"Nonsense!" said John before he thought, and then pulled himself up.
"That is--I don't think a man would have to be in love with her to see
that," he ended lamely. "I thought they were attractive before I----"
"Exactly," retorted his mother with distinct skepticism. "That's why
you--" She paused in mimicry of his breaking off, and, then, as Joy
came back, gave him an affectionate little push toward the door.
She followed them out to the gate and leaned over it, watching them.
"Good-by, children!" she called after them. "Don't be late for luncheon!"
"Don't stand out there in the wind with no wraps, Mother," advised John.
"Nonsense!" she replied with spirit. "You have Isabel De Guenther's
rheumatism on your mind, that's what's the matter with you. The idea
of a woman of her intelligence giving up to inflammatory rheumatism
is simply ridiculous.
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