“Won’t it cost a great deal?”
Arthur Witham slowly shook his head. Then he looked at her. She smiled rather archly into his eyes.
“It won’t be done for nothing,” he said, looking at her again.
“We can go into that later,” said James, leading off the plumber.
“Good morning, Miss Houghton,” said Arthur Witham.
“Good morning, Mr. Witham,” replied Alvina brightly.
But she lingered in the background, and as Arthur Witham was going she heard him say: “Well, I’ll work it out, Mr. Houghton. I’ll work it out, and let you know tonight. I’ll get the figures by tonight.”
The younger man’s tone was a little off-hand, just a little supercilious with her father, she thought. James’s star was setting.
In the afternoon, directly after dinner, Alvina went out. She entered the shop, where sheets of lead and tins of paint and putty stood about, varied by sheets of glass and fancy paper. Lottie Witham, Arthur’s wife, appeared. She was a woman of thirty-five, a bit of a shrew, with social ambitions and no children.
“Is Mr. Witham in?” said Alvina.