"Oh, good morning, Mr. Traverse. Excuse my toilet, but we wash sometimes at
our house, and this is one of the times. Fine morning this for
washerwomen. Now, what do you want of me, papa?" and she turned leisurely
to her father again, much to Gussie's horror.
"Well, Traverse called to take you for a drive, but I doubt if he will care
to ask you after seeing you in such a rig."
"This is not my carriage dress, my dear papa, but my working suit; but
seeing that Mr. Traverse has been talking to me at the back gate in this
very _rig_ and survived the shock, I trust the second sight won't prove
disastrous. If you say you can spare me, I'll promise not to appear in this
costume in public. Thanks, papa. How soon do you wish to start, Mr.
Traverse?"
"In half an hour, if possible," was the smiling answer.
"You will find me waiting your appearance," and making a sweeping,
old-fashioned courtesy, she pulled her bonnet forward with a jerk and
danced out of the room.
Traverse looked after her with a smile, and with a few pleasant words to
Mr. Sherwood, and a polite "good-morning" to Gussie, he bowed himself out.
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