The auction went merrily forward, but Gloria didn’t come back.
After an hour or so, when Peggy was sure the woman must have gone and the trying interview, whatever it was, must be over, she slipped from the room and went fearfully down the hall toward Number 20.
She knocked on the door, and entered when a cold “Come” sounded.
Gloria was seated shoeless on the couch, her red-gold hair in disarray, a frightened, harassed look in her wide eyes.
“Gloria,” stammered Peggy, “do you want to talk to me?”
Gloria shot her a quick glance, searching, appealing and yet at the same time resentful.
“It depends,” said Gloria. “Do you like me very much?”
“Very much,” returned Peggy simply.
“Well, then,” flung out Gloria unexpectedly, “I sha’n’t tell you.”
“Sha’n’t tell me—because I like you?” cried Peggy indignantly. “Why, I never heard of such a thing!”