ays ago," I said, "and he
evidently remembered."

"Gordon is the dearest fellow," declared Frieda. "Frances, you will have
to sit down and write him a little note, this evening. And now lie down
again on the sofa, my dear, and I'll read the paper to you, if you like.
Here is the fashion part of the _Times_. There is not the slightest
doubt that skirts are going to be worn short and somewhat fuller than
last year, and the footwear is going to be very elaborate. For my part,
I refuse to wear shoes with white uppers because they make fat ankles
look ever so much bigger. Oh! Just look at this design for an evening
dress!"

I withdrew, seeing them so well occupied. It was only then that I
remembered I had had no breakfast, so I took my hat and went out for a
solitary refection of coffee and omelette. Passing in front of the
erstwhile dyeing and cleaning establishment, I noted that much blistered
paint had been scraped off and read a sign stating that the shop would
be opened again in a couple of weeks. This looked hopeful; once again
will the wind be tempered to the poor lamb. Gordon will finish his
picture and she will return to keeping accounts and advising anxious
ladies as to the possibilities of renovating sere and yellow waists and
skirts. It does not seem probable to me that she will sing again, in
spite of the ordeal she has been through. It would sound like too good a
thing to be true, and she can't speak above a whisper.

Later in the afternoon, after I had taken a hygienic walk, followed by
the absorption of varied information from the papers, Frieda came in
again. She considers Frances as a person requiring the utmost care and
has brought her a pink shawl to put over her shoulders. I have seen it
hang for years from a gas-fixture in Frieda's parlor.

When I proposed the usual refection of tea, Frieda held my arm as if the
little pot I brandished had been a lethal weapon, with which I expected
to destroy our patient. How could I venture on the responsibility of
giving Frances tea without knowing whether it would be good for her? I
declared that I would go and find out, and clattered down the stairs,
rushing over to Porter's. The street was steeped in sabbatical peace and
I reflected that the doctor would probably be out, attending to his
growing practice and soothing the fevered brow. The rather slouchy maid
of all work opened the door. Looking down the hall I saw Porter's red
head issuing cautiously from the