"
"Dear, dear!" murmured Mrs. Wrandall, quite appalled by her way
of putting it. Leslie looked at her and coughed. "What a delicious
dressing you have for these alligator pears, Sara," she went on,
veering quickly. "You must tell me how it is made."
After luncheon, Leslie drew Sara aside.
"I must say she doesn't seem especially overjoyed to see me," he
growled. "She's as cool as ice."
"What do you expect, Leslie?" she demanded with some asperity.
"I can't stand this much longer, Sara," he said. "Don't you see
how things are going? She's losing her heart to Booth."
"I don't see how we can prevent it."
"By gad, I'll have another try at it--to-night. I say, has she
said--anything?"
"She pities you," said she, a malicious joy in her soul. "That's
akin to something else, you know."
"Confound it all, I don't want to be pitied!"
"Then I'd advise you to defer your 'try' at it," she remarked.
"I'm mad about her, Sara. I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't--yes,
I CAN eat, but it doesn't taste right to me. I've just got to have
it settled. Why, people are beginning to notice the change in me.
They say all sorts of things. About my liver, and all that sort
of thing. I'm going to settle it to-night. It's been nearly three
weeks now. She's surely had time to think it over; how much better
everything will be for her, and all that.
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