His gaze remained level on the page before him.
“Didn't you hear me, Lee? I want the paper cutter. If it's on your night table, get it.”
“Let Amanda go up.”
“She's out. I let both the girls go tonight. But I needn't explain.” She sat expectantly upright. Obliterating his cigarette, he returned, without moving, to the magazine. Then he raised his head:
“You can't hope for much from that tone of voice.”
“I'll always insist on your showing me some courtesy. I can't imagine what you think I am. You lie to me as though I were a school-girl and you haven't even common good manners. That trip to New York—I'll hear the truth about it. Anyone could tell it was serious by the effect it had on you. Put down your magazine, you might as well; you can't keep on behind it forever. Why did you try to hide that Mrs. Grove and you were alone?”
“To stop all this!” He dropped the magazine upon the floor. “To save my nerves and the noise of your eternal questions. I knew, if you found out, what would follow; this isn't the first time.”
“You can't be completely trusted,” she replied. “I have always had to worry and hold you up. If it hadn't been for me—but there is no use in going into that. You must tell me about the Grove woman.”
“At one time it was Mrs. Grove,” he observed; “now it is 'the Grove woman.' What will you call her next?”
“You will have to tell me that,” Fanny said. “Lee Randon, what must I call her?”