“I am not. It is all beneath my notice. I assume you will use your information in any way you see fit—but the way, nor the result, interests me not at all.”
“Don’t talk like that, Letitia,” and Eliza looked deeply concerned. “Mr Corson will think you a hard-hearted woman.”
“He has my permission to do so.”
“Oh, stop, Auntie!” Bates cried, earnestly. “You get yourself misunderstood by such talk. You’re not hard-hearted,—except regarding your foolish feud. In all other ways you’re normally kind and generous minded.”
“Thank you, Rick, but I don’t care for compliments.”
Corson was fingering some library appointments on the large table near which he sat.
“These brass sets are convenient things,” he remarked, referring to an elaborate array of fittings spread out on the large green blotting pad. “These long clipping shears are most useful, and the pen-holder, letter opener and ink eraser, all to match, are of admirable workmanship.”
“Yes,” said Miss Prall, carelessly, “I had the set made to order. It is, I think, unique.”
“Why are you interested in them?” Miss Gurney said, abruptly.
“Oh,” Corson returned, easily, “I love desk fittings. They always have a peculiar fascination for me. I have several sets myself, but none so fine or costly as these.”