“More uncomfortable than this?” Elfreda’s smile embraced the fire in the miserable grate, the schoolroom linoleum, the red tablecloth stained freely with ink.
“But it’s your living, you know.” This was a very practical young fellow. In the next instant, however, he was blushing for his indiscretion. “I beg your pardon. Impertinent to say that. One oughtn’t to have said it. But what I meant was it’s seldom wise to quarrel with one’s bread and butter.”
“I am quarreling violently with mine,” said Elfreda.
“In real earnest?” George Norris was thrilled again. “Do you mean that? Not giving up governessing, are you—if it’s a fair question?”
“Yes, I hope I am,” said Elfreda, with a heartfelt sigh.
“Hooray. That’s capital.” His satisfaction seemed extraordinarily sincere.
The curiosity of Elfreda was piqued by it. A gleam from those perilous eyes of hers called upon General Norris for an explanation.
“You’re so much too good for this sort of thing.” Involuntarily he took a cigarette from its case, placed it in his mouth and struck a match on the sole of his shoe.
“But I am not in the least clever.” She saw the necessity of putting up some sort of a defense.
“No, you are something much better than clever. You know the world. You know the things that are things. And that’s why”—one of his pleasant hesitations came upon him—“Mrs. T.-S.—she’s my hostess, but I can’t help saying it—and Miss P. have such a down on you. Rotten, I call it. But I don’t pretend to understand women.”