There were lines in her face that age had not put there. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. I hold a warrant from Mr.
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