"And then she--she realized it, and tried to turn it into a cough, and she didn't know how, and it sounded like--like a squeal!" "I suppose," said Mrs.Vertrees, much injured, "that Mary will have an uproarious time at my funeral.

She makes fun of--" Mary jumped up instantly and kissed her; then she went to the mantel and, leaning an elbow upon it, gazed thoughtfully at the buckle of her shoe, twinkling in the firelight.
"THEY didn't notice anything," she said.

"So far as they were concerned, mamma, it was one of the finest coughs you ever coughed." "Who were 'they' ?" asked her father.

"Whom did you see ?" "Only the mother and daughter," Mary answered.

"Mrs.Sheridan is dumpy and rustly; and Miss Sheridan is pretty and pushing--dresses by the fashion magazines and talks about New York people that have their pictures in 'em.