But Minnie
Peters--Minnie Peters is the worst of all. Every so often"--in a low
voice and with her eye on the door--"she has one of her humble days, and
then I want to die. That was what was the matter before you came--I
didn't really mean to seem cross to you. I just have to take her and
shake her and say, 'Now, Minnie Peters, how can you be so bad to me? How
can you think I would do anything to hurt your feelings, when your mother
was my very best friend? Why are you always looking for a chance to find
a slight, when'--Oh, thanks, thanks!--Miss Peters having appeared with
the check. Mrs. Bates clapped on the signature at her little old desk.
"There, my child. And good-luck to the club-room.
"And now business is over," she continued. "Do you like my posies?" She
nodded towards the window where, thanks to the hair-brush, a row of
flowers in a long narrow box blew about in the draught.
"Asters?"
"No, no, no! But I hoped you'd guess asters. They're chrysanthemums
--you see, fashion will penetrate even here. But they're the smallest and
simplest I could find. What do I care for orchids and American beauties,
and all those other expensive things under glass? How much does it please
me to have two great big formal beds of gladiolus and foliage plants in
the front yard, one on each side of the steps? Still, with our position,
I suppose it can't be helped. No; what I want is a bed of portulacca, and
some cypress vines running up strings to the top of a pole.
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