“Wasn’t that man terrible?” Doris said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “And the way he sent us to bed just as though we were infants! Do you think he really could be a cousin of mine?”
“I don’t see how he could be,” Kitty comforted. “He doesn’t look or act like any of your relatives that I ever saw.”
“Well, I hope not! Wonder what he wants of Iris and Azalea?”
“Something he didn’t want us to hear, that’s certain. Say, where is he from, anyway?”
“Some place about four hundred miles from here—Cloudy Cove, I think he said.”
“And he drives that far every few days to see Azalea and Iris? It looks fishy to me.”
“I think so, too,” Doris agreed. “The Misses Gates are lovely ladies—far too good for that loud creature—but at the same time they’re scarcely the type a man would drive four hundred miles to see.”
“He doesn’t care a whit about them. You can tell that.”
As they undressed, the girls continued to discuss Ronald Trent and to make disparaging remarks. Then Kitty jumped into bed and Doris put out the light. Snuggling down into the covers, they shivered a bit as the wind rattled the window pane. They could almost imagine that in the pitch dark room someone was slowly creeping toward them.
“I’d hate to stay here very long,” Kitty whispered. “Folks are so funny. Even Henry and Cora.”