Stella flushed, but took off the offending hat and threw it aside. “All right, then. You don't lose many opportunities of making yourself objectionable, do you?”
“I endeavour to live up to your expectations, my love,” said Randall. He turned, as Benson came into the room. “The sherry, Benson. Or do you prefer a cocktail, Stella?”
“I don't want either, thanks.”
“Bring the sherry, Benson. And lay for Miss Matthews.”
“Oh, I haven't come to lunch!” said Stella hurriedly.
“Lay for Miss Matthews,” repeated Randall. He picked up the cigarette-box, and offered it to Stella. “Must you oppose my every suggestion, darling? Or are you afraid of poison?”
“Shut up!” Stella said fiercely. “We've had enough of that subject! I wish now I hadn't come.”
“Why did you?” he inquired.
She suddenly looked rather forlorn, and said in an undecided voice: “I don't know. I mean, I had to see either you or Mr Carrington. It's about the money uncle left me.”
“Which you wouldn't touch if you were starving,” said Randall. “What do you want me to do with it? Found a home for lost cats?”