I grunted scornfully. "I know: from that two-faced cat, Miss Kirkland! Say, how I wish, by Jove, that woman would pack up and go back to China—the sponge!" And I screwed my glass indignantly.
"Oh, now!" she remonstrated sweetly, "you mustn't say that! You might be sorry!" She smiled archly.
I grunted contemptuously.
Again she rested her little chin upon her hand, eying me thoughtfully, earnestly.
"And so you don't believe any of it?"
I chuckled at the idea. "Oh, I say now, Frances, you know I don't!" And I shoved a bit nearer, looking into her eyes. But just then I saw Wilkes come out and look around.
And she must have glanced about quickly and have seen him, too, for as I shifted my eyes to her again she was blushing furiously and had moved a bit.
"I'm afraid," she said measuredly, her chin lifting a little, "you do believe—part of it!" And in her eyes was a glint of fire.
And then as my face fell blankly, a slow little smile came creeping back to hers. Her eyes softened.
"Forgive me," she said gently; "I misunderstood!"