He came
forward hastily, eager to stop the talk.
"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?"
The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice
could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence.
"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to
penance and confession."
"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men
said, "that there's no necessity of going so early."
"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected,
Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you
only mean to be?"
Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind
the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets
of all sorts of fantastic devices.
"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What
sort of a favor ought I to give you?"
"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of
the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be
too surprised to put it down."
"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs.
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