“There are handsome people who are perfectly convenable. You’re handsome, Betty.”
Betty was unmoved.
“At any rate you needn’t know her,” she said.
“Don’t you think I ought to say ‘Howd’ye do’ if I meet her on the stairs?”
“No, why should you? The next thing would be she’d be coming into your rooms and then, some day, she’d come when somebody you liked was there.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and drew herself up, her head so erect the double chin she fears was visible. In this attitude she kept a cold eye on me.
“And all because she’s handsome and wears a hat as big as a tea tray,” I said, trying to treat the subject lightly, but inwardly conscious of a perverse desire to champion Miss Harris.
Betty, wreathing her neck about in the tight grip of her collar, removed her glance to the window, out of which she stared haughtily as though Miss Harris was standing on the tin roof supplicating an entrance.
“We can’t be too careful in this town,” she murmured, shaking her head as if refusing Miss Harris’ hopes. Then she looked down at the floor. I saw her expression changing as her eye ranged over the rug.
“Where did you get this rug, Evie?” she asked in a quiet tone.