“I? No,” said he, with an air as embarrassed as I could have wished.
“I left a message yesterday afternoon.”
“I never got it.”
“You mean you forgot it.”
“I mean I never got it,” he repeated, irately this time.
She made a grimace, as much as to say, “Don't lose your temper,” and glanced again at me.
“My niece, Miss Kerry,” said he, hurriedly, introducing me with a jerk of his hand.
His “niece”! I smiled to myself at this euphonism, but bowed as deferentially as if I had really believed her to be his near relation, for I have always believed that the flattery of respect paves the way more readily than any other.
She smiled charmingly, while I by my glance endeavored further to assure her that my discretion was complete.
We exchanged a few polite words, and then she turned contemptuously to the canvas.