She slipped into the house, threw off her things and made straight for the dining room.

She stopped and listened.

Her father's voice--with no life in it; presently her mother's--no life in that; a considerable vacancy, then a sterile remark from Washington Hawkins.
Another silence; then, not Tracy's but her father's voice again.
"He's gone," she said to herself despairingly, and listlessly opened the door and stepped within.
"Why, my child," cried the mother, "how white you are! Are you--has anything--" "White ?" exclaimed Sellers.

"It's gone like a flash; 'twasn't serious.
Already she's as red as the soul of a watermelon! Sit down, dear, sit down--goodness knows you're welcome.

Did you have a good time?
We've had great times here--immense.