Then, remotely, faint as
distant cannonading, a rumble reached me. It was hoarse laughter of
the Mixer, perhaps in another room. The electric telephone has been
perfected in the States to a marvellous delicacy of response.
I now found myself observing Mrs. Effie, who had been among the
absorbed onlookers while the pair were at their tea, she having
occupied a table with Mrs. Judge Ballard and Mrs. Dr. Martingale.
Deeply immersed in thought she had been, scarce replying to her
companions. Her eyes had narrowed in a way I well knew when she
reviewed the social field.
Still absorbed she was when Cousin Egbert entered, accompanied by the
Honourable George. The latter had seen but little of his brother since
their first stormy interview, but he had also seen little of the
Klondike woman. His spirits, however, had seemed quite undashed. He
rarely missed his tea. Now as they seated themselves they were joined
quickly by Mrs. Effie, who engaged her relative in earnest converse.
It was easy to see that she begged a favour. She kept a hand on his
arm. She urged. Presently, seeming to have achieved her purpose, she
left them, and I paused to greet the pair.
"I guess that there Mrs. Effie is awful silly," remarked Cousin Egbert
enigmatically.
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