The morning dawned in a fluff of gray fog that hung low down over the

avenue, though the sun showed signs of soon piercing the gloom. The clash

and clatter of the city was fast approaching a noonday roar but still

Phoebe slept in the room which adjoined that of Caroline Darrah Brown.

Caroline cautiously opened the door and stole in gently to the side of

the bed, then paused and looked down with delight. Phoebe, asleep, was a

thing calculated to bring delight to any beholder. The brilliant, casual,

insouciant, worldly Phoebe had gone out on a dream-hunt and a delicious

curled-up flower lay in her place, with turned lashes dipping against

soft tinted cheeks. Her head rested on one bare white arm and one hand

curled under her daintily molded chin. Caroline caught her breath--this

was a pathetic Phoebe when one thought of the most times Phoebe, cool,

self-reliant--perforce!

"The darling," she whispered to herself as she slipped to her knees by

the low bed, "I can't bear to wake her, but I'm afraid not to; it's an

hour late already. Dear!" She slipped her arm under the glossy head

and pressed a little kiss on the dimple over the northeast corner of the

warm lips.

Phoebe's gray eyes smiled themselves open for a fraction of a second,

then she nestled to Caroline's shoulder and calmly drifted off again in

pursuit of the dream.

"Dearie," Caroline begged, "it's after ten!"

Phoebe sighed, nestled closer and drifted again. Caroline settled herself

against the pillows and pressed her cheek against the thick black braid

that curled across the sleeper's bare shoulder. She was incapable of

another combat with the sleep-god and decided to wait. Besides, the awake

Phoebe was busy--and elusive--not given to bestowing or receiving aught

save the most fleeting caresses. So for a few moments Caroline Darrah's

arms held her hungrily.

"Be-autiful," came in a sleepy voice from against her arm, "is the water

cold?"

"Awful this morning," answered Caroline tightening her arms. "Just a

little hot, Phoebe, please! I'll tell Annette."

"No," answered Phoebe, as with a whirl of the covers she sat up and

took her knees into her embrace. "No, sweetie, in I go! The colder the

better after I'm in. How grand and Burne-Jonesy you look in that linen

pinafore--indulging in the life domestic? I think I catch a whiff of your

culinary atmosphere--and, oh, I--am so--hungry."

"Tempie has a dear little plump bird for you and some waffles and an

omelet. Let me have Annette bring them to you here! Please, Phoebe,

please!"

"Caroline Darrah Brown," said Phoebe in a tragic voice, "do you know I

gained a pound and a quarter last week and that makes me three and a half

pounds past the danger-mark? Two raw eggs and an orange is all I can have

this morning. I'm going to cry, I think!"




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