Bill raged. So they had dragged her into the plot, too. Her part, it seemed, was to put a soft pedal on protests.
"I'm not going to be charitable and I'm not going to be religious," said Bill, defiantly. "And if you don't lay off me I'm not going into society, either. I'd sooner go to the devil; all by myself, if I have to."
"William Marshall!"
Bill was not looking to see how much Aunt Caroline was shocked; he was again looking at his secretary. Her finger went to her lips once more, and this time she also shook her head. She was slightly frowning, too. Well, what was the idea? What difference did it make to her whether he spoke his mind or kept a craven silence? Probably she was afraid of losing her job.
"Society!" jeered Bill. "Personally conducted by my valet! Me—hopping around in a pair of patent-leather pumps, lugging lemonade for a lot of giggling boneheads and saying 'Ain't it great!'"
Aunt Caroline was passing the point where her sensibilities were merely outraged; she was growing angry. Her fingers were drumming nervously on the cloth and in her eyes was an expression that Bill had seen there before. But this time he seemed to miss it. Mary Wayne did not miss it, however. She sent him a frown of warning. And then she spoke.
"Miss Marshall, wouldn't it be a good idea if your nephew and I discussed this matter up-stairs?"
Aunt Caroline sternly regarded Bill and hesitated. Bill began bracing himself for combat.
"I think perhaps he doesn't fully understand the idea," continued Mary, hastily. "Perhaps there are some features of it that can be—modified. I'd like to have a chance to explain it to him more fully."