“No,” protested Eunice. “It was only one of the little tiffs that happen in the best families! Now, listen, Mason—”
“My dear lady, I live but on the chance of being permitted to listen to you—only in the hope that I may listen early and often—”
“Oh, hush! What a silly you are!”
“Silly, is it? Remember I was your childhood playmate. Would you have kept me on your string all these years if I were silly? And here’s another of my childhood friends! How do you do, most gracious lady?”
With courtly deference Elliott rose to greet Aunt Abby, who came into the living-room from Eunice’s bedroom.
Her black silk rustled and her old point lace fell yellowly round her slender old hands, for on Sunday afternoon Miss Ames dressed the part.
“How are you, Mason,” she said, but with a preoccupied air. “What time is Mr. Hanlon coming, Eunice?”
“Soon now, I think,” and Eunice spoke with entire composure, her angry excitement all subdued. It was characteristic of her that after a fit of temper, she was more than usually soft and gentle. More considerate of others and even, more roguishly merry.
“You know, Mason, that what we are to be told to-day is a most inviolable secret—that is, it is a secret until tomorrow.”
“Never put off till to-morrow what you can tell to-night,” returned Elliott, but he listened attentively while Eunice and Aunt Abby described the performance of the young man Hanlon.