the old oak. Washington had no laughter to light his face, but one felt his youth and strength. Here was not the statesman, but the soldier who was fighting the battle of the moment with no idea of the honors ahead.
Bobby, coming up behind her, said, "Old George needs a hair cut."
"I like him."
"You wouldn't in real life. Not with a coat like that."
"One doesn't judge men by their coats."
"Dear child," Bobby surveyed her with a laughing eye, "if I wore lace ruffles and ribbons, you'd adore me."
"Not I."
"All women are like that. Caught by trappings—men in khaki, men in scarlet, men in high boots. They married thousands of 'em during the war. Coats, my dear child, coats!"
Sally, joining them, was white as a sheet. "I have such bad news. Merry's uncle is dead. Louis just got the telegram."
"How dreadful!" Hildegarde said.
Bobby was more practical. "Good thing for Merry. Nice estate, I understand."
Sally blazed at him. "Oh, that's like you, Bobby. As if the money mattered!"
"Does, though," Bobby insisted. "Does with you. Don't try to put it over on me, Sally."
Sally faced him squarely. "Do you mean I am marrying Neale for his money?"
"What else? I wouldn't call him young or good-looking."
