Groome. All these were as one united family. They
met every day, wandering in and out at all hours, and although they had
many healthy disagreements they agreed on all the fine old fundamentals,
and they stood by one another through thick and thin.
The hair of all looked freshly washed. Their complexions had perished
asking no quarter. Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Geary were as slim and smart as
Mrs. Abbott, but the others were expanding rapidly, and Aunt Clara, who was
only a year older than Mrs. Groome, was shamelessly fat, and her face
was so weather-beaten that the freckled skin hung as loosely as her old
wrapper.
All wore white, the simplest white, and all sewed quietly for the new
refugee babies; all except Alexina who talked feverishly to cover the awful
pauses, and young Joan, who had crawled under the table and stuffed an
infant's flannel petticoat into her mouth to muffle her giggles.
Tom had escaped to the golf links. Mortimer sat in the midst of the
Irregular circle and smoked three cigars. He smiled when he spoke, which
was seldom, and appeared appreciative of the determined efforts to be
"nice" of these ladies who had called him Mortimer as soon as he arrived,
and who made him fed more like a poor relation whose feelings must be
spared, every moment.
Finally Alexina, who was on the verge of hysteria, dragged Joan from under
the table, and the two carried him off to the tennis court.
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