Innes wondered if it would be safe to agree with her.
“When will it be here?”
“You’ll be disappointed.” Innes found herself stammering. “But not for six weeks. I did not know whether to order it or not.”
“And I in Los Angeles with my summer sewing all done! What good will it do me then?” The pretty eyes looked ready for childish tears.
“I know. That is, I didn’t know what to do,” apologized Innes Hardin. “I decided to order it as I’d found the place, and was right there, but I made sure that I could countermand the order by telegram. So I can this very afternoon. I knew you would be disappointed. I was sorry.”
“I’ll need it next winter,” admitted Gerty, helping herself to some of the chilled tomatoes. “I’m sure I’m much obliged to you. I hope it did not put you to much trouble.”
The words raised the wall of formality again. Innes bent over her plate.
“What made you change your plans?” suddenly demanded his wife of Hardin. “When Sam came in with your bag, he surprised me so.”
“My boss kept me.” Hardin’s face looked coarse, roughened by his ugly passion. “Rickard, your old friend. He served a subpœna on me at the station.”
“Oh,” cried Gerty. “Surely, he did not do that, Tom!”