“I should think it was,” he said. “I can smell it down here.” He sprang up the stairs and snatched the pot from the stove. “You must have stopped stirring it,” he said.
“Oh, I didn’t stir it!”
“What did you do?”
“You didn’t tell me to stir it.”
“I certainly did.”
“No, you said just to watch it.”
Riatt looked at her. “Well,” he said, “I’ve heard of glances cutting like a knife, but never stirring like a spoon. If I were a really just man,” he went on, “I’d make you eat that burnt mess for your supper, but I’m so absurdly indulgent that I’ll share some of my bacon and biscuits with you.”
His tone as well as his words were irritating to one not used to criticism in any form.
“I don’t care for that sort of joke,” she said.
“I wasn’t aware of having made a joke.”