Annette's composure, a portion of it, had returned by this time. Nevertheless, there was an odd note in her voice.
“They do, indeed,” she said. “I remember the Dott house, of course. It was very fine, I believe, in its day.”
Her husband interrupted. “In its day!” he repeated. “Humph! there's nothing the matter with it now, that I can see. I wish I had as good. Why—”
“Phelps!” snapped Annette, “don't be silly. Mrs. Dott understands what I meant to say. The place is very nice, very attractive, indeed. Perhaps some might think it a bit old-fashioned, but that is a matter of taste.”
“Humph! it's on the best street in town. As for being old-fashioned—I thought you just said you loved old-fashioned things. That's what she said, wasn't it, Dan?”
Mrs. Black's gloved fingers twitched, but she ignored the remark entirely. Daniel, too, did not answer, although he smiled in an uncertain fashion. It was Serena who spoke.
“I haven't any doubt it is lovely,” she said. “We're just dying to see it, Daniel and I. I hope you can be with us when we do, Mrs. Black. You might suggest some improvements, you know.”
“Improvements!” the visitor repeated the word involuntarily. “Improvements! You're not going to LIVE there, are you?”
“I don't know. We may. Now, Daniel, don't argue. You know we haven't made up our minds yet what we shall do. And Scarford is a beautiful city. Mrs. Black has told us so ever so many times. What were you going to say, Mrs. Black?”
The lady addressed looked as if she would like to say several things, particularly to her husband, who was grinning maliciously. But what she did was to smile, a smile of gracious sweetness, and agree that Scarford was beautiful.