A book about which every reader will form his own definite opinion. If one likes it, it is eccentric perhaps but full of the knowledge of human nature, and if there never could be a white linen nurse as ingenuous and good as the heroine, so much the worse for the world. If one doesn't like it, it seems very sentimental and forced and silly. Apt to be entertaining either way.
trotting with infinite relief to its own doll-house she trotted over to her bureau, extracted the lace corset-cover, and came back with it in her hand to lean across Zillah Forsyth's shoulder again and watch the men's faces go slipping off into oblivion. Once again, abruptly without warning, she halted the process with a breathless exclamation.
"Oh, of course this waist is the only one I've got with ribbons in it," she asserted irrelevantly. "But I'm perfectly willing to trade it for that picture!" she pointed out with unmistakably explicit finger-tip.
Chucklingly Zillah Forsyth withdrew the special photograph from its half-completed wrappings.
"Oh! Him?" she said. "Oh, that's a chap I met on the train last summer. He's a brakeman or something. He's a--"
Perfectly unreluctantly Rae Malgregor dropped the fluff of lace and ribbons into Zillah's lap and reached out with cheerful voraciousness to annex the young man's picture to her somewhat bleak possessions. "Oh, I don't care a rap who he is," she