“No, dear; I'm afraid your Uncle Charlie has that too securely tucked away.”
Something in Aunt Isabel's voice, her manner, her eyes, even more than her words, convinced Missy that she was speaking the real truth. It was all a kind of wild jumbled day-dream she'd been having. La Beale Aunt Isabel wasn't in love with Mr. Saunders after all! She was in love with Uncle Charlie. There had been no romantic undermeaning in all that harp-ukelele business, in the flasket of ice-cream soda, in the mysterious sickness. The sickness wasn't even mysterious any longer. Aunt Isabel had only had an “upset.”
Deeply stirred, Missy withdrew her hand.
“I think I forgot to open my bed to air,” she said, and hurried away to her own room. But, oblivious of the bed, she stood for a long time at the window, staring out at nothing.
Yes; Romance had died out in the Middle Ages...
She was still standing there when the maid called her to the telephone. It was Raleigh Peters on the wire, asking to take her to the dance that night. She accepted, but without enthusiasm. Where were the thrills she had expected to experience while receiving the homage paid a visiting girl? He was just a grocery clerk named Peters!
Yes; Romance had died out in the Middle Ages...
She felt very blase as she hung up the receiver.