"I know very little about it or her," said Jerry in an injured tone, "save that she writes about women's fashions. We have met at journalistic clubs in London, and, of course, when I saw her I passed the time of day with her."
"You passed an hour," snapped Dinah, "and very pleasantly, I'm sure."
"She's not a bit ashamed of her birth," continued Jerry, still ignoring Dinah as a punishment. "I never knew her father was a shepherd in London, but she confessed it to me here quite easily."
"That's her artfulness," commented Dinah. "Why are you so curious about this woman?" she asked Beatrice.
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I am not curious," she denied; "but as I have just seen old Orchard, it is strange that his daughter should have been speaking to Jerry."
"Not at all, Beatrice. Jerry is always fond of these painted, horrid women, who never pay for their dresses because they write for fashion papers. I should be ashamed to earn my living in that way.--Well"--she faced round to the impenitent Mr. Snow--"and what have you to say?"
"Nothing," said Jerry crossly. "You are always nagging, Dinah."
"After that!" cried Miss Paslow, looking up to see why the heavens did not fall. "Well, I'm--I'm----" Words failed her, and she turned her back. "I'm going home. All is at an end!" and she sped up the avenue, glancing back meanwhile on occasions to see if Jerry followed.
But Jerry did nothing of the sort, and explained to Beatrice why he stood his ground. "Dinah needs a lesson," he said gravely. "You have no idea how she nags at me. I can't speak to any one without her getting into a pelting rage."
"It shows how she loves you," said Beatrice soothingly.