Randall paid no heed to this. He shut the door, and said quite gravely: “Why did you run to me as though I were your one hope of deliverance, Stella?”
She blushed. “Oh, I didn't! I mean—you told me you'd see the thing through, and—and I thought you might help us. I was a bit upset.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “Sorry I clutched your beautiful coat!”
The smile had gone; there was not even a gleam of mockery lurking beneath those long lashes. “My coat did not matter,” said Randall.
“Oh! Well, one wouldn't have said so, considering the way you —”
“My dear, did you think I was going to let you give yourself away with all our relations present?”
“Give myself—!” Stella broke off, choking. “I don't know what you think you're talking about, but —”
“Don't dither, my sweet. Tell me, is my grey hall an insuperable bar to matrimony?”
“Yes!” said Stella hurriedly. “I mean —”
“I suppose I shall have to let you redecorate it as you like then,” replied Randall. “But I do stipulate that Guy shall not be allowed to have a hand in it.”
Stella, whose brain was whirling, said in an uncertain voice: “I don't call this particularly funny. It may be your idea of a joke, but it isn't mine.”