She asked him what that meant, and he explained patiently.
“Maybe she’ll want to spend a quiet evening—have one of those headaches,” he went on. “If that is so, you can tell her that I’ve got a party coming to the house to-night, and they will be a little noisy. Did she want to know anything about me?”
“No, she didn’t,” snapped Joan promptly. “She didn’t want to know about anything. I couldn’t get her to talk. She’s like a dumb oyster.”
Mirabelle was sitting by the window, looking down into the square, when there was a gentle tap at the door and Joan came in.
“I’ve got wonderful news for you,” she said.
“For me?” said Mirabelle in surprise.
Joan ran across the room, giving what she deemed to be a surprisingly life-like representation of a young thing full of innocent joy.
“I’ve got an extra ticket for the Arts Ball to-night. They’re selling at a—they’re very expensive. Aren’t you a lucky girl!”
“I?” said Mirabelle in surprise. “Why am I the lucky girl?”
Joan rose from the bed and drew back from her reproachfully.