“Oh,” she remarked; very much surprised.
“Good morning, Eve,” said I. “Have you used Somebody’s Soap; or what is it that you have used? It is excellent.”
A faint color came to her cheek, the corners of her bowed lips twitched. “For a pirate, or a person of no culture, you do pretty well. As though a girl could sleep after all this hullabaloo.”
“You have slept very well,” said I. “You never looked better in all your life, Helena. And that is saying the whole litany.”
“You are absurd,” said she. “You must not begin it all again. We settled it once.”
“We settled it twenty times, or to be exact, thirteen times, Helena. The only trouble is, it would not stay settled. Tell me, is there any one else yet, Helena?”
“It is not any question for you to ask, or for me to answer.” She was cold at once. “I’ve not tried to hear of you or your plans, and I suppose the same is true of you. It is long since I have had a heartache over you—a headache is all you can give me now, or ever could. That is why I can not in the least understand why you are here now. Auntie is almost crazy, she is so frightened. She thinks you are entirely crazy, and believes you have murdered Mr. Davidson.”
“I have not yet done so, although it is true I am wearing his shoes; or at least his waistcoat. How do you like it?”
“I like the one with pink stripes better,” she replied demurely.
“So then—so then!” I began; but choked in anger at her familiarity with Cal Davidson’s waistcoats. And my anger grew when I saw her smile.