At which doubtful compliment I retort, recklessly:
"Pooh! What's a puff more or less, in a worthy cause?
And if you think my cheeks are pink now, just wait until
your mighty Von Gerhard comes again. By that time they
shall be so red and bursting that Frieda's, on wash day,
will look anemic by comparison. Say, Norah, how red are
German red cheeks, anyway?"





CHAPTER III


GOOD AS NEW

So Spring danced away, and Summer sauntered in. My
pillows looked less and less tempting. The wine of the
northern air imparted a cocky assurance. One
blue-and-gold day followed the other, and I spent hours
together out of doors in the sunshine, lying full length
on the warm, sweet ground, to the horror of the entire
neighborhood. To be sure, I was sufficiently discreet to
choose the lawn at the rear of the house. There I drank
in the atmosphere, as per doctor's instructions, while
the genial sun warmed the watery blood in my veins and
burned the skin off the end of my nose.

All my life I had envied the loungers in the parks--