“That was fine. I could not have given it to him straighter myself,” declared Miss Briggs mischievously. “You made him dizzy, I’ll warrant. I know just how you did it. You could talk a deaf and dumb man to death, I really believe. Why were you so curious about seeing who came out of the house?”
“Just a little idea that I had in mind. I—” The expression on her companion’s face caused Grace to pause. Elfreda’s face had suddenly assumed a strained expression, the lines had hardened ever so little and the eyes had narrowed.
It was not necessary for “Captain” Grace to turn around facing the door to see who or what had so changed her companion.
“Girl, you will please get down from the counter!” commanded the cold voice of Mrs. Chadsey Smythe, though it was a more restrained tone than she had ever employed in speaking to Grace.
“You are right, Mrs. Smythe. It is not a dignified position,” answered Grace laughingly, hopping down from the counter.
“Why bother her? She seems to be enjoying it so much,” urged a voice that was pleasing. “I know I should be perched up there all the time were I on duty here.”
Grace suddenly felt the color mounting to her cheeks. She had not yet turned about to face the newcomers, but the Overton girl knew that voice, and at the same time knew that she must control herself before she faced the owner of it. When she finally did turn, after a meaningless word or two to Elfreda to aid the process of control, Grace presented a smiling face and laughing eyes that offered no trace of recognition as she looked into the eyes of the woman who accompanied Mrs. Smythe.
“You will kindly remain standing while on duty after this,” added the supervisor. “Are all of our supplies here, none missing?”
“Yes, Mrs. Smythe, all that were sent over last evening from the wreck.” Grace was wondering what had come over Mrs. Smythe that she was exercising so much self-control. Ordinarily in the circumstances the supervisor would have worked herself into a towering rage. Then wonder of wonders! Mrs. Smythe introduced her companion.
“This is Mrs. Gray. Miss Marshall, Mrs. Gray.” It was done sourly and resentfully, but it was better than Grace Harlowe had any reason to expect of her immediate superior.