“I’m very sensitive to odours.”
“And I’m very sensitive to furthermores. Furthermore what?”
Richard puffed slowly.
“Well, it is only a fear I have that Mrs. Wells may have used money that was not, strictly speaking, her own.”
“Take that back!”
Phœbe jumped to her feet, reached up deftly and unhooked the stout whip that had done duty for some years as a protector from Seth. “Take it back, I say!” she cried as she swung the lash, “or I’ll make you take it back.”
She was trembling with anger, and she looked murderous.
“All right,” Richard puffed away quietly. “I’ll take it back, although I think you should attend to those muffins before you cart-whip me. I’d rather have my muffins in the mouth than in the nose, if you don’t mind.”
Phœbe struggled a moment with her quivering anger and then put back her whip and strode to the rescue of the muffins.
Nearly a half-hour slipped away before she returned. Richard was only a desultory smoker, but he had time to roll a number of cigarettes before she appeared finally with a tray of fresh muffins, some jam and a pot of hot tea. All trace of her anger was gone, too.