“Well, Laura,” said Mrs. Cressler, when they had sat down, “do you like it?”

“I don’t want to leave it⁠—ever,” she answered. “I could stay here always.”

“I like the young man best,” observed Aunt Wess’. “The one who seems to be the friend of the tall fellow with a cloak. But why does he seem so sorry? Why don’t he marry the young lady? Let’s see, I don’t remember his name.”

“Beastly voice,” declared Landry Court. “He almost broke there once. Too bad. He’s not what he used to be. It seems he’s terribly dissipated⁠—drinks. Yes, sir, like a fish. He had delirium tremens once behind the scenes in Philadelphia, and stabbed a scene shifter with his stage dagger. A bad lot, to say the least.”

“Now, Landry,” protested Mrs. Cressler, “you’re making it up as you go along.” And in the laugh that followed Landry himself joined.