And I never do weep, either. I tell you that Joe Tank's a terrible man,"
she laughed, brushing away some tears.
"I don't think you're going to have much to weep about, Georgia. I know
you're going to be happy."
"Well, if I'm not it won't be Joe's fault. Unless it is his fault on
account of its _not_ being his fault. What I mean is that good-natured
people are sometimes aggravating."
"Oh he'll not always be good-natured," she reassured her.
Ernestine said then that she must go, and was standing at the door when
Georgia burst forth: "Oh Ernestine--I'm so glad I remembered. You really
must go down to the Art Institute and see those pictures by that
Norwegian artist--I shouldn't dream of pronouncing his name. They go away
this week, and it would be awful for you to miss them."
A wistfulness, fairly pain, revealed itself for an instant in Ernestine's
face. And then, as if coming into consciousness of the look: "I know,"
she said briefly. "I read about them. I've been--thinking about it.
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