“Most amiable,” answered Riatt rather poisonously, and regretted the poison when he saw the Linburnes exchange an amused glance. Of course every one knew that Mr. Fenimer would present no obstacles.
“Who are you lunching with, Max? Is that your little secretary?”
The tone, very civil and friendly, made Max furious, as if any one that Christine did not know was hardly worth inquiring about.
“No, it’s Miss Lane—an old friend of mine. I think I must have spoken to you about her.”
“Oh, the perfect provider? Is that really she?” Christine craned her neck openly to stare at her. “Why, she’s rather nice looking—for a good housekeeper, that is. You’re dining with me to-night, aren’t you?”
“No,” answered Riatt, with a sudden inspiration of ill-humor. “I’m dining with Miss Lane.”
“Bring her, too! Won’t she come?”
“I really can’t say.”
“You can ask her.”
“To your house?”