“Heaven knows! He insists that it isn’t finished. I believe he sits and prays over it. He was annoyed that Madala took me there one day. You know how touchy he is.”
“He won’t show it now,” said the blonde lady.
“Why not? Why not?” Anita hovered, on the pounce, like a cat over a bowl of goldfish, and like a fish the blonde lady glided out of reach.
“And she asks!” she appealed to the others.
Anita frowned.
“You’re cryptic.”
“Well, wasn’t there a certain—rivalry? You should have a fellow-feeling.”
“Oh—” she resented quickly, “Kent always wanted to keep her to himself, if you mean that.”
The blonde lady smiled.
“And now he keeps her to himself. I mean just that. I go by your account, of course. I haven’t glimpsed The Spring Song.”