“A little more occasionally,” suggested Hal. “A door wouldn’t be much use to Mr. Hayward, anyhow.”
“That’s what he says. Won’t you go down to his room?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get the tea. It’s one of the few things I can do passably well.”
“Let me come and help. It won’t take long. I’m interested in that door. You see, I’m not even G; and I don’t possess a front door.”
The music-teacher looked searchingly into her face, and was evidently pleased with what she saw, for she adopted a friendly note, and seemed ready to chat. Hal followed her into the little kitchen, and commenced to take off her hat.
“I’m an old friend,” she volunteered, “and I often leave my hat in here. Are both Mr. Hayward’s sisters out?”
“Miss Hayward will be late tonight, and her sister is uncertain. It depends somewhat upon which young man she is out with,” in acid tones.
Hal glanced up in astonishment, but her companion was busy with the cups and saucers, and did not notice the look.
“All I can say is, I’m sorry for that nice gentleman who is fool enough to think of marrying her. Lord! he’d be safer with some one with a face like a door-knocker, such as mine. But there, they’re all the same; and the nicest of them are generally the biggest fools.”