“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy protested, anxiously. “Wait till morning.”
“But it is morning!” she cried. “Go away, Eddy! Quick! I want to speak to—Go away, do! I only have a minute to spare.”
“Morning!” thought Ross. He looked at his watch, which showed a few minutes past six; then at the window. It was as black as ever outside.
“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy began again. “If I was you, I’d—”
“Get out, fool!” she cried. “Idiot! This instant!”
Her fierce and sudden anger astounded Ross. Her eyes had narrowed, her nostrils dilated, her short upper lip was drawn up in a sort of snarl. Yet this rage was in no way repellent; it was like the fury of some beautiful little animal. He could perfectly understand Eddy’s answering in a tone of resigned indulgence.
“All right, Miss Amy. Have it your own way.”
It seemed to Ross that that was the only possible way for any man to regard this preposterous and lovely creature, not critically, but simply with indulgence.
Taking up his cap and overcoat, Eddy departed, whistling as he went down the stairs. Miss Solway waited, scowling, until he had gone; then she turned to Ross.
“Who are you?” she demanded.