Mrs. Wilson Woodrow

“ She caught the cat up and held it as if it were a baby, looking triumphantly down into its blinking, evil eyes.
"Isn't she awful?" mourned Lutie. "Do put the beast out, Angel."
The child walked to the door, opened it, and threw Lambie out unceremoniously.
"Won't you shake hands with me?" asked Frances, rising to go and extending her hand.
But Angel made no response.
"She won't touch anybody," said her mother. "She'll hug her animals all day, but she won't even kiss Walt or me, and Walt would be awful fond of her if she'd let him. She ain't his, you know. My second husband was her father. ”

“ The brilliant eyes shone with a fitful and feverish light.
"How do you do?" she said in a weak, petulant voice. "Was you wanting to see me?"
"I am Frances Benson, a Missionary," said her uninvited guest, "and I came to see Mr. Garvin about renting a cabin."
"Oh, the Missionary!" She viewed Frances half respectfully, half resentfully. "Won't you sit down? I'll call him. Wa—lt!" lifting her voice; "say, Walt, come here!" ”

“ She flicked a pile of fashion magazines and catalogues on the table before her. "Look," pointing to a heap of clippings, "I've been cutting out those for hours and hours—pictures, you know, of the latest gowns and hats and wraps and things. Here's a hat I'm going to send for. Say, Walt, I wish you'd write for this to-night." Garvin had entered while she had been talking, handed Frances the key, and disappeared again. "Oh," went on Lutie, glancing behind her, "he's gone. I don't care, I'm tired of 'em, anyway. I'm tired of everything." Her haggard gaze hung on the missionary. "Dead tired. ”