This year it was eugenics and Strauss; the welfare of the race had suddenly engaged her attention, and the menaced future of music.

She was slender, erect, and beautifully dressed.

Her hands were small, and she constantly but inexpressively gesticulated with them; her elaborately undulated hair looked like polished, fluted silver; her eyes were small, dark, and intent; she smiled as constantly and as inexpressively as she gesticulated.
'And so you really think of going back for the winter ?' she asked Althea finally, when the responsibilities of parenthood and the impermanency of modern musical artifices had been demonstrated.

'Why, my dear?
You see everybody here.

Everybody comes here, sooner or later.' 'I don't like getting out of touch with home,' said Althea.
'I confess that I feel this home,' said Miss Robinson.