He looked now scornfully at Adèle standing by the bookcase with her self-convicted blush.
“I am disgusted with the women of to-day,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t we smoke as well as you?” asked Adèle.
“I don’t,” he returned finally, his eyes fixed on the papers on his desk. “You try it once here, and you’ll find it will be a few degrees worse than Damaris bobbing her hair.”
“Poor youngster,” said Adèle. “I must say, Aunt Susanna—”
“Well, what?” said Miss Frink, suddenly coming into the room, “Aunt Susanna what?”—she went to the desk and threw down some papers. “File those, Grim. Speak, and let the worst be known, Adèle.”
The secretary certainly admired his colleague as he rose to his feet. Without altering her pose, Adèle’s voice melted into the meek and childlike tone of her habit.
“I was speaking of what a marvel it is that you have had no reaction from the excitement of that dreadful day. That is what it is to be a thoroughbred, Aunt Susanna.”
“Thorough-nothing,” snorted the lady. “What was the use of my lying down and rolling over because I wasn’t hurt?”
“And Rex is all right again, isn’t he?” said Adèle.