She was gone. Emma McChesney shut her eyes, wearily. Her nerves were
twitching. Her thoughts were far, far away from samples and sample
cases. So he had turned out to be his worthless father's son after
all! He must have got some news of her by now. And he ignored it. He
was content to amuse himself up there in the Canadian woods, while his
mother--

Miss Riordon, flushed, and panting a little, burst into the room
again, sample-case in hand.

"Lordy, that's heavy! It's a wonder I haven't killed myself before
now, wrestling with those blamed things."

Mrs. McChesney sat up on one elbow as Miss Riordon tugged at the
sample-case cover. Then she leaned forward, interested in spite of
herself at sight of the pile of sheer, white, exquisitely embroidered
and lacy garments that lay disclosed as the cover fell back.

"Oh, lingerie! That's an ideal line for a woman. Let's see the yoke in
that first nightgown. It's a really wonderful design."

Miss Riordon laughed and shook out the folds of the topmost garment.
"Nightgown!" she said, and laughed again. "Take another look."

"Why, what--" began Emma McChesney.

"Shrouds!" announced Miss Riordon complacently.

"Shrouds!" shrieked Mrs. McChesney, and her elbow gave way. She fell
back on the pillow.