"Christmas in the country must be very stupid."

"Stupid!" Claudia's hands, which had been clasped behind her back,
opened and came together on her breast. "Of course"--her eyes were
raised to Miss French's--"it's a point of view, I suppose. We don't
think it's stupid. We love it."

Miss French got up, put her cigarette-case in her velvet hand-bag,
slipped on her coat, fastened her veil, picked up her muff, shook it,
and looked toward the door, between whose curtains Mrs. Warrick was
standing.

"I thought you'd gone for good, Hope. You must have been telling all
you knew, and more. Miss Keith was just saying she loved Christmas
in the country. I can't imagine anything worse, unless it's
Christmas in town. I hate Christmas! If I could go to sleep a week
before, and not wake up until a week after, I'd surely do it. Why,
Winthrop Laine!"

On her way to the door Miss Robin French stood still and looked at
the man coming in; and over her ruddy face swept color, almost purple
in its deepness. She was a handsome woman, stubbornly resisting the
work of time. In her eyes was restless seeking, in her movements an
energy that could not be exercised in the limits of her little world;
and Claudia, watching her, felt sudden whimsical sympathy. She was
so big, so lordly, so hungrily unhappy.

She held out her hand. "How do you do?" she said. "I am just going
home, as your sister hasn't asked me to dinner. I suppose you will
stay--"