Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/287

 and so utterly different. The same gray eyes, but calm and drooped; the same clear white skin, but a fuller, yes, a more matronly face, a riper, sweeter, more restful curve. The soft dark shadows that accentuated Mrs. Dudley’s eyes were lacking; a group of tiny wrinkles at the corners gave her instead a pleasant, humorous regard that her sister’s literal directness missed utterly.

Nervous under his scrutiny, she rose hastily, and before he could prevent her she had brought him a roomy arm-chair from the house.

“At our age there’s no use in running risks,” she said simply, “you ought not to sit on the grass; leave that for the young folks.”

Again he winced, but dropped with relief into the chair.

“Oh, one must keep up with the procession, you know!” he said lightly.

She made no reply; and as she lifted the bottle and began to beat the yellow