were
interested in business, politics, their families, a thousand things
besides herself. They had lost the obsession of personality, the
you-and-I attitude which is the life-blood of flirtation.

Just now Annabel preferred boys still young enough to be secretly proud
of the necessity of shaving every other day, young enough to swagger a
little when they lighted a cigarette. At her present rate of progress,
by the time she was fifty, she would have come by successive gradations
to the level of short trousers and turn-over collars.

The average worshiper may hurry over his prayers, but the devotee of
vanity must not make haste with her toilet. It was quarter of eleven
when Annabel was dressed, but since the results were satisfactory, she
was untroubled over her lack of punctuality. It was Diantha who
fidgeted, and looked at the clock.

"You're 'most an hour behind time. You'd better hurry if you don't
want Miss Persis to scold."

"I shan't hurry for any one," Annabel returned, selecting after due
deliberation the parasol with the pink lining. Her husband was
lounging on the porch as she went out, and he greeted her with his
usual, "Good morning, my dear," his gaze following her with the gently
satiric smile which always made her feverishly impatient to consult the
little mirror she carried in her hand-bag. That smile hinted at
extraordinary insight and unnerved her as his frenzied outbursts of
anger had never done. She had lost her power to hurt him except in the
way of humiliation, but he cynically argued that the constant amusement
she afforded him almost paid this last indebtedness. It was like
having a season ticket to a theater.

Persis Dale was fitting young Mrs. Thompson, the traveling man's wife,
when Annabel made her appearance. She nodded, glad that the half dozen
pins held loosely between her lips, relieved her from the obligation of
a welcoming smile.

"Maybe you'd like to set on the porch, Mis' Sinclair, till I'm at
liberty. Your hour was ten, you know. It's shady out there and you
can look over the new books. And now, Mis' Thompson, before I go any
further we've got to decide whether it's to open in the front or in the
back."

"I think the buttons down the back are more stylish," said young Mrs.
Thompson.

"There's no doubt of that," Persis agreed. "Everything in the book is
back. But there's always more'n one way to skin a cat. I could put a
row of hooks under the lace, around th