"H-u-m!" said Harleston. "Young or old?"

"She's got ripples enough on her gown to be sixty, and figure enough to
be twenty."

"Slender?"

"Yes; a perfect peach!"

"How's her walk?"

"As if the ground was all hers."

"I see!" Harleston replied. "What would you, as a woman, make her
age--being indifferent and strictly truthful?"

"Not over twenty-eight--probably less!" she laughed. "And I've a notion
she's some to look at, Mr. Harleston."

"You mean she's a beauty?"

"Sure."

"Call me if she comes back; also if any of the men go out. They are
strangers to the Collingwood so you will know them."

"Very good, Mr. Harleston."

He hung up the receiver and went back to bed.