“It’s manners to wait until you’re axed,” Susan said demurely.  But her heart sang.  She had to listen to a little dissertation upon the joys of courtship, when she and Mary Lou were undressing, a little later, tactfully concealing her sense of the contrast between their two affairs.

“It’s a happy, happy time,” said Mary Lou, sighing, as she spread the two halves of a shabby corset upon the bed, and proceeded to insert a fresh lacing between them.  “It takes me back to the first time Ferd called upon me, but I was younger than you are, of course, Sue.  And Ferd—!” she laughed proudly, “Do you think you could have sent Ferd away with an excuse?  No, sir, he would have come in and waited until you got home, poor Ferd!  Not but what I think Peter—­” He was already Peter!—­“did quite the correct thing!  And I think I’m going to like him, Sue, if for no other reason than that he had the sense to be attracted to a plainly-dressed, hard-working little mouse like my Sue—­”

“His grandfather ran a livery stable!” said Susan, smarting under the role of the beggar maiden.

“Ah, well, there isn’t a girl in society to-day who wouldn’t give her eyes to get him!” said Mary Lou wisely.  And Susan secretly agreed.

She was kept out of bed by the corset-lacing, and so took a bath to-night and brushed and braided her hair.  Feeling refreshed in body and spirit by these achievements, she finally climbed into bed, and drifted off upon a sea of golden dreams.  Georgie’s teasing and Mary Lou’s inferences might be all nonsense, still, he had come to see her, she had that tangible fact upon which to build a new and glorious castle in Spain.

Thanksgiving broke dull and overcast, there was a spatter of rain on the sidewalk, as Susan loitered over her late holiday breakfast, and Georgie, who was to go driving that afternoon with an elderly admirer, scolded violently over her coffee and rolls.  No boarders happened to be present.  Mrs. Lancaster and Virginia were to go to a funeral, and dwelt with a sort of melancholy pleasure upon the sad paradox of such an event on such a day.  Mary Lou felt a little guilty about not attending the funeral, but she was responsible for the roasting of three great turkeys to-day, and could not be spared.  Mrs. Lancaster had stuffed the fowls the night before.

“I’ll roast the big one from two o’clock on,” said Mary Lou, “and give the little ones turn and turn about.  The oven won’t hold more than two.”

“I’ll be home in time to make the pudding sauce,” her mother said, “but open it early, dear, so that it won’t taste tinny.  Poor Hardings!  A sad, sad Thanksgiving for them!” And Mrs. Lancaster sighed.  Her hair was arranged in crisp damp scallops under her best bonnet and veil, and she wore the heavy black skirt of her best suit.  But her costume was temporarily completed by a light kimono.

“We’ll hope it’s a happy, happy Thanksgiving for dear Mr. Harding, Ma,” Virginia said gently.