“I thought George told you over the ’phone that I couldn’t see any one today,” said Gloria. “I’m packing to go to Palm Beach, and now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, perhaps you’ll run along.”
“Not at all; I’m going to stay to argue with you. In the first place why go away and in the second why go to Palm Beach when there are so many interesting places to go?”
“I’m going away because I’m tired of playwrights and actors and actresses, and Fifth Avenue and Broadway, and if you have any better place than Palm Beach to suggest, I will be very glad to go there—only don’t say the North Pole, for I’ve been packing summer clothing and don’t want to do it all over again.”
“Can’t you say anything to her?” he asked, smiling at Ruth.
She shook her head, answering him with her eyes and again she had the feeling of a secret understanding between herself and Terry.
“Haven’t you any control over this house, George?” he asked perching on top of one of the trunks and lighting a cigarette.
George made no answer, but Amy grinned her delight. With her mistress gone George would assume more upper servant airs than ever and she would have no court of justice to which she could refer in time of domestic strife.
“Please get off that trunk, Terry; there are chairs to sit on,” said Gloria, drawing the red flower of her lip under her white teeth.
“How can I sit on a chair when there are hats and boots on every one?”
“Here, I’ll clear one for you,” said Gloria, and sent a hat sailing across the room.