He hurled himself to the other end of the mantelpiece, picking up the second candlestick and putting it down with force. “It’s surely not abnegating common sense just to—to recognize honesty.”
“Please don’t fiddle with those candlesticks. They’re the rarest American workmanship, and if you were to break one of them Aunt Marion would kill me. I’ll feel safer about you if you sit down.”
“All right. I’ll sit down.” He drew to him a small frail chair, sitting astride on it. “Only please don’t fidget me.”
“Would you mind taking that chair?” She pointed to something solid and masculine by Phyffe. “That little thing is one of Aunt Marion’s pet pieces of old Dutch colonial. If anything were to happen to it—But you were talking about recognizing honesty,” she continued, as he moved obediently. “That’s exactly what I should like you to do, Rash, dear—with your eyes open. If I’m not looking anyone can pull the wool over them, whether it’s this girl or someone else.”
“In other words I’m a fool, as you were good enough to say––”
“Oh, do forget that. I couldn’t help saying it, as I think you ought to admit; but don’t keep bringing it up every time I do my best to meet you pleasantly. I’m not going to quarrel with you any more, Rash. I’ve made a vow to that effect and I’m going to keep it. But if I’m to keep it on my side you mustn’t badger me on yours. It doesn’t do me any good, and it does yourself a lot of harm.” Having delivered this homily she took a tone of brisk cheerfulness. “Now, you said over the phone that you were coming to tell me good news.”
“Well, that was it.”
“What was it?”
“That she was ready to do anything—even to disappear.”