“As the mood of the companion of the moment more likely,” the blonde lady corrected.
He nodded agreement.
“But for herself—go to her books.”
“Or her letters—her careful, conscientious letters. But she was careless about her drafts,” said Anita significantly.
Mr. Flood looked at her curiously.
“What’s up that sleeve of yours, Anita?”
She was quick.
“You shall read it, in its place. But the trouble is——” She hesitated. She gave the little nervous cough that always ushered in her public lectures. “We’ve all written books,” she said, “all except you, Blanche——”
The blonde lady blinked her sleepy eyes.
“You’re all so strenuous,” she purred. “I love to watch you being strenuous. So soothing.”