“Yes, I picked it up. Very expressive, I think.”
“Sounds like the natives.”
“Sounds pretty well, then. Did I hear you say you had an errand somewhere?”
“No, you didn’t. You merely heard me say that finding myself de trop in my fair cousin’s company, I’d get out of 205 range of her big guns. Never expected to rattle you, Lot.”
“I’m not rattled.”
“No? Pretty good imitation, then. Oh, I’m going! Mother’s ready for you all right, though; says so in this letter. Here, I’ll stick it in your apron pocket. Better come along with me, day after to-morrow. What say?”
“I’ll see,” said Elliott, briefly.
He grinned teasingly, “Ta-ta,” and went off, leaving turmoil behind him.
The minute Stannard was out of the door Elliott did a strange thing. Reaching with wet pink thumb and forefinger into the depths of the blue apron pocket, she extracted the letter and hurled it across the kitchen into a corner.
“There!” she cried disdainfully, “you go over there and stay a while, horrid old letter! I’m not going to let you spoil my perfectly good time getting dinner.”