The vociferous cordiality of Everett Belder’s greeting carried its own stigma of insincerity.
“Theresa!” he exclaimed, “and Carlotta! I’m certainly glad you were where you could drop in! I couldn’t interrupt a conference to talk with you on the phone— Excuse me, please,” he said parenthetically to Bertha Cool.
“Certainly,” Bertha retorted with frigid formality.
Mrs. Goldring looked Bertha over from head to toe, her eyes hesitating slightly on Bertha’s waistline.
Belder said hurriedly, “Theresa, you’re looking simply marvellous! You look like Carlotta’s sister,” and he added with the haste of a person trying to rectify a faux pas, “Carlotta herself is looking marvelously well. Better than I’ve ever seen her. I’ve been saying so all week, haven’t I, Carlotta?”
Carlotta looked bored. Mrs. Goldring, despite herself, favoured Belder with a simpering smile. “Do you think so, Everett, or are you just saying so?”
“No, Theresa, really I mean it. A person seeing you on the street would certainly take you for — I mean, wouldn’t think — that is, would never suspect you and Carlotta were mother and daughter.”
“We aren’t, you know,” Carlotta said acidly.
“Well, you know what I mean,” Belder said. “Just go into my private office. I’m finishing up here.”
“Oh, I do so hope we’re not intruding,” Mrs. Goldring said.