"Yes indeed, isn't it? My partner--she lives in Woodlawn--saw two robins this morning. The buds ought to be out pretty soon now."
Mrs. Plew laughed. "The German bands are out already. That's the surest sign I know. Oh, Mrs. Connor," Georgia, who was on the top step turned, "there was a young man came to see you this afternoon. He waited nearly an hour. He didn't leave his name."
"Well, he was tall, blue clothes, black derby hat. He had on a blue tie with white dots. I don't know as I can describe him exactly. It was kind of dark in the hall and I didn't get a good look at him."
Georgia paused with her hand on the knob of the living room door, as she heard talking within, her mother's uninflected murmuring and a musical masculine voice, deeper than Al's. It must be Father Hervey, patient man, who came regularly once a fortnight, nominally to confer with Mrs. Talbot as to the activities of the ladies' advisory board of the children's summer-camp school. But his visits were less for the summer school than for mama, to cheer her in her feeble loneliness.
Georgia slipped back to her own room, by way of the hall. An instinct has been growing in her of recent months to avoid falling into talk with the priest. He was so sure and strong and dominating; and she wanted to think for herself.
Al was whistling loudly in his back little cubicle, performing sartorial miracles before his square pine-framed mirror, with a tall collar that lapped in front and a very Princeton tie, orange and black, broad stripes.
She smiled reminiscently, regretfully, as she stood in the shadow and watched his gay evolutions through the partly opened door. He had so very much ahead of him that was behind her. He had the spring.
"Oh, I didn't know you were there. Why," he explained, amazed that explanation was necessary, "to-night is the big night. Our Bachelor's Dance. Don't you remember you were invited--as chaperone. I'm on the committee."
"Hope you have a good time. Who are you taking?"
"Oh-ho, I thought it was Delia Williamson that you--"
"It was, but she got too gay, so I thought I'd teach her a lesson."
"Poor Delia," sighed Georgia, mischievously.
"Oh, I'll have a dance or two with her," Al promised, putting on his coat and giving his hair a last pat with the tips of his fingers. He departed with the trill of a mocking bird. He had been a famous whistler from childhood.