"Was I—yes, I was feeling good. You're home early tonight, Evie."
Mrs. Colebrook had a washing day and was at her labors in the scullery, and Evie could flare up without reproof.
"I'm so glad you notice when I come in, and go out!" she said. "It is nice to know that all your movements are watched. I suppose I ought to ask your permission when I stay out late? We always like to please the lodger!"
He looked down into the pretty flushed face and smiled gently. "I believe you are trying to be cross with me, Evie," he said good-naturedly, "and I don't feel like being cross with anybody. My dear, it is no business of mine—"
"Don't call me 'my dear', if you please! You have a nerve to 'my dear' me! A man like you!"
Sault's knuckle touched his chin awkwardly. "I didn't mean to be offensive—"
"You are offensive! You are the most beastly offensive person I know! You go prying and spying into my business and telling lies about gentlemen whose boots you're not fit to blacken."
"Hello, hello!" Mrs. Colebrook stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her soapy hands on her apron. "What's this, Evie? Telling lies about you? Mr. Sault would not tell a lie to save his life. What gentleman? He'd have to be a pretty good gentleman for Mr. Sault to blacken his boots."
Evie wilted before her mother's fiery gaze and, turning, slammed from the room.
"It is nothing, Mrs. Colebrook," smiled Ambrose. "I made her angry—something I said. It was my fault entirely. Now what about those blankets?"