CHAPTER VIII
"I'll do the washing, Nora, and you can dry," said Gertie in that peculiar tone which Nora had learned to recognize as the preface to something disagreeable.
"All right."
"I've noticed the things aren't half clean when I leave them to you to do."
"I'm sorry; why didn't you tell me?"
"I suppose yon never did the washing-up in England. Too grand?"
But Nora was not to be ruffled just now. Her resentment against Taylor, who was sitting watching her as if he read her thoughts—she often wondered how much of them he did read—made anything Gertie said seem momentarily unimportant.
"I don't suppose anyone would wash up if they could help it. It's not very amusing."
"You always want to be amused?"