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 had urged, “and do her portrait. We’ve moved on since you left us, you know. She’s a wonder—she really is. When you remember how she used to carry her father’s dinner to the store Saturday afternoons—”

“And now I suppose she sports real Mechlin on her cap,” assented Hunter, anxious to show how perfectly he caught the situation.

Varian had roared helplessly. “Cap? Cap!” he had moaned finally. “Oh, my sainted granny! Cap! My poor fellow, your view of Binghamville must be like the old maps of Africa in the green geography, that said ‘desert’ and ‘interior’ and ‘savage tribes’ from time to time. I should like awfully to see Mrs. Dud in a cap.”

Hunter had looked puzzled.

“But, dear me! she might very well wear one, I should think,” he had murmured defensively. “I don’t wish to be invidious, but surely Lizzie must be—