Lapham asked her eldest daughter, who lounged
into the parlour a moment with her wrap stringing
from her arm, while the younger went straight to bed.
"He wants to invite Mr. Corey's father to a fish dinner
at Taft's!"
Penelope was yawning with her hand on her mouth;
she stopped, and, with a laugh of amused expectance,
sank into a chair, her shoulders shrugged forward.
"Why! what in the world has put the Colonel up to that?"
"Put him up to it! There's that fellow, who ought have come
to see him long ago, drops into his office this morning,
and talks five minutes with him, and your father is
flattered out of his five senses. He's crazy to get
in with those people, and I shall have a perfect battle
to keep him within bounds."
"Well, Persis, ma'am, you can't say but what you began it,"
said Penelope.
"Oh yes, I began it," confessed Mrs. Lapham. "Pen," she
broke out, "what do you suppose he means by it?"
"Who? Mr. Corey's father? What does the Colonel think?"
"Oh, the Colonel!" cried Mrs. Lapham. She added tremulously:
"Perhaps he IS right. He DID seem to take a fancy to her
last summer, and now if he's called in that way . . ." She left
her daughter to distribute the pronouns aright, and resumed:
"Of course, I should have said once that there wasn't
any question about it. I should have said so last year;
and I don't know what it is keeps me from saying so now.
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