The flattering glance that accompanied this speech seemed to win the day, and Posy settled back in the big chair, sticking her feet out straight in front of her.
“Well,” she said, smoothing down her brief and scant skirt, “you see, our house is on down the lake, next below Whistling Reeds.”
Recognizing there was or might be something coming, I turned back, and sat down again.
“So, of course, I can’t help seeing them about now and then, though I don’t really rubber much—I don’t get time, as I’m busy on my own. And, after all, there’s nothing to see, and if there was, you can’t see much with all that wall of evergreens all round about.”
“If this is idle gossip, my dear——” Lora began.
“No, it’s—it’s information.”
Thoroughly enjoying the attention she was receiving, Posy prolonged the situation by selecting and lighting a fresh cigarette. Having drawn one puff, she turned it round and critically surveyed the lighted end, as is the absurd habit of some people.
But each one of her hearers knew better than to interrupt by word or look the possible continuance of her revelations.
“Now, what I have to tell, I’ve never breathed to a soul. I’m not sure now that I ought to breathe it.”
She looked questioningly about, but we gave no aid or hindrance, knowing the best plan was to let her alone.