His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. He saw, without any particular regret, that this year he would have to forego the junket; but there would be ample compensation in the study of these queer youngsters. “This party must be so boring for you. ‘I will do so. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. That's why I'm so anxious to get her to a haven. We may be stopped.
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