“Well, he seems to have killed us now,” Delia cried.
“Well, don’t give up an old friend,” her father urged with his hand on the door. “And don’t back down on anything you’ve done.”
“Lord, what a fuss about an old newspaper!” Delia went on in her exasperation. “It must be about two weeks old anyway. Didn’t they ever see a society-paper before?”
“They can’t have seen much,” said Mr. Dosson. He paused still with his hand on the door. “Don’t you worry—Gaston will make it all right.”
“Gaston?—it will kill Gaston!”
“Is that what they say?” Delia demanded.
“Gaston will never look at me again.”
“Well then he’ll have to look at ME,” said Mr. Dosson.
“Do you mean that he’ll give you up—he’ll be so CRAWLING?” Delia went on.
“They say he’s just the one who’ll feel it most. But I’m the one who does that,” said Francie with a strange smile.