“You’re none of you in the sere and yellow,” declared Eunice, laughing at the idea. “Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the family record, is about as young as any of us.”
“I know I am,” said the old lady, serenely. “And I know more about my hobby of psychic lore in a minute than you young things ever heard of in all your life! So, don’t attempt to tell me what’s what!”
“That’s right, Miss Ames, you do!” and Mason Elliott looked earnestly at her. “I’m half inclined to go over to your side myself. Will you take me some time to one of your seances—but wait, I only, want to go to one where, as you said, the psychic manifestations are perceptible to one or more of the five well-known senses. I don’t want any of this talk of a mysterious sixth sense.”
“Oh, Mason, I wish you would go with me! Madame Medora gives wonderful readings!”
“Mason! I’m ashamed of you!” cried Eunice, laughing. “Don’t let him tease you, Aunt Abby; he doesn’t mean a word he says!”
“Oh, but I do! I want to learn to read other people’s thoughts —not like our friend Hanlon, but really, by means of my senses and brain.”
“You prove you haven’t any brain, when you talk like that!” put in Hendricks, contemptuously.
“And you prove you haven’t any sense,” retorted Elliott “I say, who’s for a walk? I’ve got to sweep the cobwebs out of the place where my brain ought to be—even if it is empty, as my learned colleague avers.”
“I’ll go,” and Eunice jumped up. “I want a breath of fresh air. Come along, San?”
“Nixy I’ve got to look over some papers in connection with my coming election as president of a big club.”
“Your coming election may come when you’re really in the prime of life,” Hendricks laughed, “or, perhaps, not till you strike the sere and yellow, but if you refer to this year’s campaign of the Athletic Club, please speak of my coming election.”
“Oh, you two deadly rivals!” exclaimed Eunice. “I’m glad to be out of it, if you’re going to talk about those eternal prize-fights and club theatres! Come on, Mason, let’s go for a brisk walk in the park.”
Eunice went to her room, and came back, looking unusually beautiful in a new spring habit. The soft fawn color suited her dark type and a sable scarf round her throat left exposed an adorable triangle of creamy white flesh.
“Get through with your squabbling, little boys,” she said, gaily, with a saucy smile at Hendricks and a swift, perfunctory kiss on Embury’s cheek, and then she went away with Mason Elliott.
They walked a few blocks in silence, and then Elliott said, abruptly: “What were you and Sanford quarreling about?”
“Aren’t you a little intrusive?” but a smile accompanied the words.
“No, Eunice; it isn’t intrusion. I have the right of an old friend—more than a friend, from my point of view—and I ask only from the best and kindest motives.”