her head; there wasn't any need of rouge for color in the oval face; the dark eyes were soft and deep and glorious; and she sat there in a little white muslin frock as dainty as a medallion from a master's brush.
"Say," said Madison to himself, "say, I never quite got it before. Say, she's—she's lovely—and that's my Helena. It's no wonder Thornton stared at her that day we touched him for the fifty, and"—suddenly—"damn Thornton!"
But the buggy was beside him now, and he lifted his hat as Mamie Rodgers pulled up the horse.
"Good afternoon, Miss Rodgers," he said. "Good afternoon, Miss Vail—how is the Patriarch to-day?"
"He is very well, thank you," Helena answered—and being custodian of the whip brushed a fly off the horse's flank.
"I was just coming out to pay you a little visit," remarked Madison, trying to catch her eye.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Helena sweetly, still busy with the fly. "Mamie is going to take me for a drive—and afterwards we are going to her house for tea."
"Oh!" said Madison, a little blankly.
Helena smiled at him, nodded, and touched the horse with the whip—and then she leaned suddenly out toward him, as the buggy started forward.
"Oh, Mr. Madison," she called, "I forgot to tell you! I had a letter from Mr. Thornton to-day—and he's coming back to-morrow."
