“I can’t think why you bring him here,” snapped Miss Pinnegar. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about. The whole place is talking already.”
“I don’t care,” said Alvina. “I like him.”
“Oh—for shame!” cried Miss Pinnegar, lifting her hand with Miss Frost’s helpless, involuntary movement. “What do you think of yourself? And your father a month dead.”
“It doesn’t matter. Father is dead. And I’m sure the dead don’t mind.”
“I never knew such things as you say.”
“Why? I mean them.”
Miss Pinnegar stood blank and helpless.
“You’re not asking him to stay the night,” she blurted.
“Yes. And I’m going back with him to Madame tomorrow. You know I’m part of the company now, as pianist.”
“And are you going to marry him?”