“What time did you ’phone?” she asked, pausing as she reached the first landing.
“I think it was about nine, and your mother said you had gone to a dance.”
Freda stood by the railing, looking away to the river as he reached the landing. She said nothing, but displeasure was written openly on her face. She had been looking forward to making her own confession of the gentle guilt. She had imagined herself saying: “I was a very wayward girl last night, Mauney,” and him listening, thoroughly vexed. But he had spoiled that anticipation by knowing all about it.
“Well,” she said, with a haughty elevation of her brows, “wasn’t that all right?”
“Of course, it was all right, Freda,” he replied. “But I had heard nothing about the dance, you see.”
“Hadn’t you really!” she exclaimed with more sarcasm than she felt.
“No,” he replied quietly, but with a puzzled glance at her cheek which, though turned away, was suddenly very red. “I have no authority over what you do, Freda, and even if I had, I wouldn’t use it.”
“I don’t suppose you would, Mauney. I suppose you’d always just let me do as I wanted to.”
“You’re quite right. But I was surprised last night, and a little bit hurt.”
“Well, I knew you would be,” she admitted, turning slightly towards him.