Rosamund gave Morris a look in which appeal and defiance seemed oddly to mingle, and in her turn disappeared.
Morris Severing was left disconsolate in the hall. It was of no amusement to him, although he gave the purely perfunctory laugh of civility, when Miss Blandflower, hovering on the threshold of the porch, said to him with a nervous laugh:
“Monarch of all you survey, I see.”
“Have you been gardening?” he inquired with polite superfluity, at the same time relieving her of an earth-encrusted trowel and a basket overflowing with plantain and dandelion roots.
“Oh yes,” she giggled. “Those norrible weeds! There’s no rest for the wicked.”
“But you’re not wicked at all, Miss Blandflower,” he assured her gravely. “Only too good, to tire yourself like this. Come and rest in the hall.”
Minnie looked doubtful.
She compromised by hovering restlessly between the hall-door and the window, thereby keeping Morris on his feet, while she gazed longingly at the sofa, set under the cool of a huge stand of white daisies and geraniums.
“Very hot,” she sighed, passing an earthy hand over her heated face. “Well, if you won’t think me too fearfully lazy——”
Miss Blandflower was always protesting feebly against accusations that no sane mind could ever have entertained against her.