The house looked something like Mrs. Noxon at her best. Just now she
was at her worst. She stood by her marble pool and glared at her mob
of guests dispersing in knots of laughter and indifference. There
were hundreds of men and women of all ages and sizes, and almost all
of them were startling the summer of 1915 with the fashion-plates
of 1916.
Mrs. Noxon turned from them to the dispersing nymphs of Miss Silsby's
troupe. The nymphs were dressed in the fashion of 916 B.C. They also
were laughing and snickering, as they sauntered toward the clump
of trees and shrubs which masked their dressing-tent. One of them
was not laughing--Kedzie. She was slinking along in wet clothes and
doused pride. The beautiful wrap that Mrs. Charity Cheever had flung
about her she had let fall and drag in a damp mess.
Mrs. Noxon was tempted to hobble after Kedzie and smack her for
her outrageous mishap. But she could not afford the luxury. She must
laugh with her guests. She marched after them to take her medicine
of raillery more or less concealed as they went to look at the other
sideshows and permit themselves to be robbed handsomely for charity.
Kedzie was afraid to meet Miss Silsby, but there was no escape.
The moment the shrubs closed behind her she fell into the ambush.
Miss Silsby was shrill with rage and scarlet in the face. She swore,
and she looked as if she would scratch.
"You miserable little fool!" she began. "You ought to be whipped
within an inch of your life.
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