“We’ll have him to dinner some night next week and you to meet him.”
“Why do you ask me? He’d surely rather have some one younger and prettier.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’d rather have. I’ll telephone you when the day’s fixed.”
“Betty,” I murmured, looking at her pleadingly.
“Evie,” she returned firmly, “don’t be silly. The present situation’s got to come to an end some time.”
“It’ll never end.”
“Rubbish. There’s no sense in you scraping along this way in two rooms—”
“Remember the kitchenette.”
“In two rooms,” she went on, ignoring the kitchenette. “Of course I don’t want you to live in Georgia, but—”
Little Constance showed a dismayed face.