“What is it, Daddy?” she asked. “Mother is not worse, is she?”
“No, no; she's better, if anything. But that—er—Annette Black has come and, long as she can't see Serena, she wants to talk to you.”
“About her precious politics, I suppose.”
“Your supposin' is as nigh right as anything mortal can be, Gertie. That's what she wants.”
“I can't see her. I don't want to see her. I don't want to hear the word politics. I—”
“That's enough, that's enough. I'll 'tend to HER. You stay right here.”
He descended to the drawing-room, where Annette was fidgeting on the edge of a chair, and announced calmly that Gertrude was not at home.
The caller's agitation got the better of her temper.
“Nonsense!” she snapped. “I don't believe it. How do you know she isn't?”
“Because she said so. Lovely mornin' for a walk, isn't it?”