I couldn't go away without seeing what sort of creature could have planned that fly-away flat.

She must be a perfect--" "Parachute," March suggested.
"No! anybody so light as that couldn't come down." "Well, toy balloon." "Toy balloon will do for the present," Mrs.March admitted.

"But I feel that naught but herself can be her parallel for volatility." When Mrs.Grosvenor-Green's card came up they both descended to the hotel parlor, which March said looked like the saloon of a Moorish day-boat; not that he knew of any such craft, but the decorations were so Saracenic and the architecture so Hudson Riverish.

They found there on the grand central divan a large lady whose vast smoothness, placidity, and plumpness set at defiance all their preconceptions of Mrs.Grosvenor Green, so that Mrs.March distinctly paused with her card in her hand before venturing even tentatively to address her.

Then she was astonished at the low, calm voice in which Mrs.Green acknowledged herself, and slowly proceeded to apologize for calling.