"I have opened 'em. See me stare!"
Were those girls listening? The georgette one was eying Margaret. The other, her retouching finished, snapped her handbag shut and began a story about the movies last night. Catherine was hungry; good soup—why, it was fun to gather an unplanned luncheon on a tray in this way.
"Your old job?" proceeded Margaret.
"A new study—teaching conditions in some middle-western states. I am to organize the work."
Margaret's questions were direct, inclusive. She did have a clear mind. Her business training has rubbed off all the blurry sentiment she used to have, thought Catherine.
"And you can manage the family as well?"
"This woman Henrietta sent me is fine. It's a rush in the morning, baths and breakfast. Flora can't come in until eight, and I have to get away by half past eight. No dawdling."
"And the King doesn't mind?"
Catherine flushed. Margaret had dubbed Charles the King years ago, but the nickname had an irritating flavor. "He's almost enthusiastic this week," she said. "Now tell me about yourself. What's this about your leaving Mother?"
"Oh, I thought she might like to stay with George. Instead of that, she's turned me out, neck and crop, and taken on a lady friend. I'm house-hunting." Margaret laughed. "Trust Mother! You can't dispose of her."