er thoughtfully. He looked down at his white ducks. "Couldn't you wire her not to come?" he suggested after a moment.
The Skeptic grinned at me. I shook my head. He shook his head.
"We don't want her not to come," he said, more cheerfully. "She's worth it. To see her is a liberal education. To clothe her would be ruin and desolation. Brace up, Philo--she's certainly worth all the agony of mind she may cause you. I only refrain from falling head over ears in love with her by keeping my hand in my pocket, feeling over my loose change and reminding myself that it's all I have--and it wouldn't buy her a handkerchief."
The Gay Lady spent the morning freshening her frocks--which were somehow never anything but fresh, no matter how much she wore them. It was true that there were not very many of them, and that none of them had cost very much money, but they were fascinating frocks nevertheless, and she had so many clever ways of varying them with knots of ribbon and frills of lace, that one neve