“And where one’s own kith and kin are.”
“Then if one got married—”
“That is quite another matter,” she snapped so decisively as to forbid further argument along this line.
But one must have a subject, thought Barnes, or one could not tell what subject Chance might introduce. Aunt Philomela had the self-conscious air of one who has approached with a mission.
“I was writing home about a piece of work I have in mind.”
“Work?” she asked with some scorn.
“A picture,” he explained amiably, “there’s a lot of work in one.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have little time for it here.”
“On the contrary, the inspiration for it came from here.”
“I’ve seen inspiration for nothing but deceit. I refused to tell him anything whatever about Alaska.”