Miss Isobel, looking thoroughly uncomfortable in a high-necked,
long-sleeved evening dress, sighed anxiously:
"I am looking for her myself. She has had all the windows opened, and
mother gave express orders that they were to be kept closed. Would you
mind putting this one down? It makes such a draught."
It was a high window and an obstinate one, and by the time it was down
Quin's cuffs were six inches beyond his coat sleeves and his vest was
bulging.
"I don't want that window down," said a spirited voice behind him. "I
wish you had left it alone."
"Eleanor!" said Miss Isobel reprovingly. "He is doing it at my request.
It is our young friend Quinby Graham."
Quin wheeled about in dismay, and found himself face to face with a
slender vision in shimmering blue and silver, a vision with flushed
cheeks and angry eyes, who looked at him in blank amazement, then burst
out laughing.
"Why, for mercy sakes! I never would have known you. You look so--so
different in civilian clothes."
The words were what he had expected, but the intonation was not. It
seemed to call for some sort of explanation.
"It's my face," he blurted out apologetically, drawing attention to the
fact that of all others he most wished to ignore.
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