Page:The Father Confessor, Stories of Danger and Death.djvu/352

342. "Then there is not much use going to see him."

Miss Gillson flushed. "I have made up my mind to go. I have often thought of that old man living there, with his old-fashioned ideas and narrow-mindedness, and I confess it has worried me."

She rose and stood before the glass, then drew her veil down over her face after a dissatisfied glance.

A member sitting near her was toying with a crimson rose. Miss Gillson looked at her and their eyes met.

"Don't break the pretty thing," she said. There was almost a request in her voice, and the other smiled.

"Do you care to take it?" Miss Gillson blushed; she read meaning in the smile.

"To save it from destruction," she said; and took the flower, fixing it carefully in her bodice. She looked again at the glass and rearranged the angle of her hat.

"Until women cease to think of dress," the president of the Club said pointedly, "I shall not believe the old Adam—or should I say the old Eve?—is slain."