“That excuse about inspiration was all very well,” said Dora, rubbing away hard at an obstinate spot on a pink silk blouse, “but I would give a good deal to know why he really went off in such a violent hurry, Bee.”
“Well, I fancy he does not get on too well with Mr. Gowan,” said Bee. “It always seemed to me when I saw them together that the one despised the other for brewing beer and the other despised the one for brewing books.”
“Why, Bee,” said the other girl admiringly, “that was almost clever. I wish I could think of that sort of thing to say.”
“Must be evil communications,” laughed Bee. “I never used to be accused of such a thing as cleverness. I must tell Mr. Kinross he’s contagious.”
“But why do you suppose he went?” persisted Dora. “I don’t think he bothered much over Mr. Gowan; he just used to avoid him. And you can see he likes Mrs. Gowan [p171] well enough, though I suppose not so well as that fat sister he lives with. What could have driven him away?”
Bee, with a little iron that she heated at a gas ring on her washstand, was carefully smoothing out some crumpled chiffons and ribbons.
For it was wet weather on the mountains, and in the big hotel where the Gowans were staying the two girls whom Hugh was pleased privately to call “little pets” had foregathered in Bee’s bedroom, to gossip happily and repair little ravages in their many and bewilderingly pretty toilettes.
Bee held her tiny iron against her cheek a moment to test its heat.
“You’ve accounted for every one but ourselves, Doady,” she said; “it must have been one of us, or both. That is it; he likes us both so much, and was so afraid of proposing to the wrong one, that he dashed off in a motor-car to consider the matter in solitude.”
Dora held her blouse up to the light. “I believe I’m making it worse,” she said, pensively regarding the spot. Then she poured out a little more benzine and fell to rubbing the place again.