"Say--a touch of the north wind around, Nan, eh?" he smiled.
"Never mind the north wind, Daddy," Nan laughed. "Just when? That's
what I need to know now."
The man's fingers sought his crisply curling hair.
"No, no," cried Nan, in pretended alarm, "Guess you're going to undo an
hour's work that way."
Bud dropped his hand in real dismay.
"Guess I plumb forgot. Wal, say, since you got to know, I'd say it
must ha' bin right after din--I mean luncheon. You see, I'd----"
"Ah, say three o'clock." Nan leaned forward, her pretty face supported
on the knuckles of her clasped hands, her elbows resting upon her
knees. "Oh, Daddy--and you aren't due at the party till seven. Four
hours. Four valuable hours sitting around in your dandy new suit of
evening clothes. Vanity. Pure vanity. We're all the same, men who
_don't_ need--fixing, and women who _do_. Only you men won't admit it.
Women do. They surely do. Any woman's ready to admit she'd rather
look nicer than any other woman than be all sorts of a girl other ways.
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