Dot moved a step nearer to him.
‘Ask me to stay, Larrie,’ she whispered, and this time the sob would not be strangled.
But he turned right away from her.
‘I would rather die than ask you again,’ he said with passion in his voice.
‘Mr Wooster,’ said Peggie cheerfully.
She had quite beamed at the man when she opened the door, the quarrel would have [p 110] ]to be smoothed over now a guest was here.
But five minutes later Dot came out into the hall, her train a yard behind her, a great white fur-trimmed cloak around her.
There was a beautiful angry colour in her cheeks, a defiant light in her eyes; but her lips were saying smiling things. Mr Wooster was behind with a roll of music and an opossum rug.
Peggie watched them through the front door and down the steps, she saw Dot lifted in beside her mother and well tucked up; she watched the buggy lamps flash passing out of the gates and disappear round a curve in the road. Then with quite a weight at her kindly heart, she went in to see if the ‘poor master’ wanted anything. But he was standing in the middle of the room with folded arms, and such a look on his face, that she shut the door softly behind her, and went away.