neither she nor her sisters knew, for not only was the subject dropped at
the approach of any of them but they were forbidden to mention it.

At home she was unable to communicate her surprising news at once because
of the flood of talk that met her from the drawing-room. Olive Wibird and
Lacy, her cousin, were engaged with Sidsall in a conversation often a
duet and sometimes a trio. Laurel took a seat at the edge of the chatter
and followed it comprehensively. She didn't like Olive Wibird who would
greet her in a sugary voice; but elsewhere Olive was tremendously
admired, there were always men about her, serenades rising from the lawn
beneath her window, and Laurel herself had seen Olive's dressing table
laden with bouquets in frilly lace paper. She had one now, in a holder of
mother-of-pearl, with a gilt chain and ring. Her wide skirt was a mass of
over-drapery, knots of moss roses and green gauze ribbons; while a silver
cord ending in a tassel fell forward among her curls.

Lacy Saltonstone, almost as plainly dressed as Sidsall, was as usual
sitting straighter than anyone else Laurel ever saw; she had a brown
face with a finely curved nose and brown eyes, and her voice was cool
and decided.

"For me," she said, "he is the most fascinating person in Salem."

Olive Wibird made a swift face of dissent. "He's too stiff and there is
gray in his hair. I like my men more like sparkling hock. Dancing with
him he holds you as if you were glass."

"I don't seem to remember you and Mr. Brevard together," Lacy commented.

"He hasn't asked me for centuries," the other admitted. "He did Sidsall,