"I don't know," she answered, appealing to a bust of Homer on a book-shelf. "Do you think a man with such an uncertain memory could be trusted to keep it in mind that such a person is here?"
"I can vouch for him," I said.
"If you're quite sure--" she said.
"Quite sure," I repeated positively.
"Then you can be told that we are at home on Thursdays. There--I hear uncle showing that comical General Wilson out the door, so I'll be getting my book and go. It was uncle you came to see, I believe."
"It was Mr. Kendrick I called for, but--"
"You needn't go on," interrupted Miss Kendrick calmly. "I suppose you think it is only a white one, but I'd rather not hear it. Now if you wouldn't mind reaching that fourth book from the end of the second row from the top, you'll save me from the mortification of climbing on a chair."
"This one?"
"Yes, please," she said. "Thank you. Good night. I really don't see why I've talked so much."
"It was very good of you," I protested. "Good night."