The chauffeur was playing with the speed limit. They would soon be at home. Kathleen realized that this would be the only opportunity to speak with her brother alone.
She slowly turned her head and met his quickly averted gaze. "You are not usually so chivalrous toward mother," she said. "Why did you think it worth while to make such a fuss?"
"Twitting on facts is bad taste," declared Edgar with his usual air of insouciance. If his sister would only talk, all would be well.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, Aunt Mary's faithful retainer showed the poorest possible taste. She said if mother knew that those antiques were left unprotected by anything but the oil-stove, she would prance over to that stable and nab them."
Kathleen stared at him. "Do you mean that she would?"
"Like a shot," responded Edgar cheerfully. "Wasn't I bound to resent it?"
Kathleen kept silence a space. Since she had been at home this time, her mother had told her with some excitement of Eliza's presumption in retaining articles of no value to a servant.
"And whether I was warranted or not," went on Edgar, elated by her muteness, "'there comes an opportunity in the lives of men' which seldom knocks on a man's door the second time. I flatter myself I was quick enough to shut the box between that wild and woolly Westerner and us, so that he won't expect anything more of me, in any event."