The colonel looked rather aghast. He had seldom heard Mrs. Bogardus speak
with so much animation. He wondered if really his household was so very
far behind the times.

"It's very kind of you, I'm sure, if Moya will let you. Most girls think
they can manage these matters for themselves."

"It's impossible to shop by mail," Mrs. Bogardus said decidedly. "They
always keep a certain style of things for the Western and Southern trade."

The colonel was crushed. Mrs. Bogardus rose, and he picked up her
handkerchief, breathing a little hard after the exertion. She passed out,
thanking him with a smile as he opened the door. In the hall she stopped
to choose a wrap from a collection of unconventional garments hanging on a
rack of moose horns.

"I think I shall go out," she said. "The air is quite soft to-night. Do
you know which way the children went?" By the "children," as the colonel
had noted, Mrs. Bogardus usually meant her daughter, the budding tyrant,
Christine.

"Fine woman!" he mused, alone with himself in his study. "Splendid
character head. Regular Dutch beauty. But hard--eh?--a trifle hard in the
grain. Eyes that tell you nothing. Mouth set like a stone. Never rambles
in her talk. Never speculates or exaggerates for fun. Never runs into
hyperbole--the more fool some other folks! Speaks to the point or keeps
still."