"Well, Angelica promised so many, and it makes her nervous to hear the needles," rejoined Mrs. Timberlake.
"It is evidently soothing to you and Miss Meade."
"The difference, I reckon, is that we don't stop to think whether it is or not." Mrs. Timberlake was always curt when she approached the subject of Angelica. "I've noticed that when you can't afford nerves, you don't seem to have them."
"That's considerate of nature, to say the least." His voice had borrowed the chaffing tone of Mary's.
As if in response to his words, Mrs. Timberlake rolled up the half-finished muffler, thrust her long knitting needles through the mesh, and leaned forward until she met Blackburn's eyes.
"David," she said in a low, harsh voice, "there is something I want to ask you, and Miss Meade might as well hear it. Is Letty asleep?"
"She is dozing, but speak guardedly. This daughter of mine is a keen one."
"Well, she won't understand what I am talking about. Did you or did you not think that you had spoken plainly to Angelica that evening?"
He looked at her through narrowed lids.
"What does she say?"