“You can tell her ‘yes,’” Eleanor said unexpectedly to David. “I like dogs, if they ain’t treacherous.”
“She asked you the question,” David said gravely; “this is her house, you know. It is she who deserves consideration in it.”
“Why can’t I talk to you about her, the way she does about me?” Eleanor demanded. “She can have consideration if she wants it, but she doesn’t think I’m any account. Let her ask you what she wants and I’ll tell you.”
“Eleanor,” David remonstrated, “Eleanor, you never behaved like this before. I don’t know what’s got into her, mother.”
“She merely hasn’t any manners. Why should she have?”
Eleanor fixed her big blue eyes on the lorgnette again. 142
“If it’s manners to talk the way you do to your own children and strange little girls, why, then I don’t want any,” she said. “I guess I’ll be going,” she added abruptly and turned toward the door.
David took her by the shoulders and brought her right about face.
“Say good-by to mother,” he said sternly.
“Good-by, ma’am—madam,” Eleanor said and courtesied primly.