“Ah when people are in the same boat—literally—they belong a little to each other.”
“That’s so,” said Mrs. Peck. “I don’t know Miss Mavis, but I know all about her—I live opposite to her on Merrimac Avenue. I don’t know whether you know that part.”
“Oh yes—it’s very beautiful.”
The consequence of this remark was another “Pshaw!” But Mrs. Peck went on: “When you’ve lived opposite to people like that for a long time you feel as if you had some rights in them—tit for tat! But she didn’t take it up today; she didn’t speak to me. She knows who I am as well as she knows her own mother.”
“You had better speak to her first—she’s constitutionally shy,” I remarked.
“Shy? She’s constitutionally tough! Why she’s thirty years old,” cried my neighbour. “I suppose you know where she’s going.”
“Oh yes—we all take an interest in that.”
“That young man, I suppose, particularly.” And then as I feigned a vagueness: “The handsome one who sits there. Didn’t you tell me he’s Mrs. Nettlepoint’s son?”
“Oh yes—he acts as her deputy. No doubt he does all he can to carry out her function.”
Mrs. Peck briefly brooded. I had spoken jocosely, but she took it with a serious face. “Well, she might let him eat his dinner in peace!” she presently put forth.