It was at this point that Susan spoke from her window.
"Pearl and papa weren't married, Mr. Phar; but they didn't get much fun out of not being."
I confess that I felt a nervous chill start at the base of my spine and shiver up toward my scalp. Even Phil, the man of Indian gravity, looked for an instant perturbed.
"Susan!" I demanded sharply. "Have you been listening?"
"Mustn't I listen?" asked Susan. "Why not? Are you cross, Ambo?"
"The mischief's done," said Phil to me quietly; "better not make a point of it."
"Please don't be cross, Ambo," Susan pleaded, slipping through the window to the terrace and coming straight over to me. "Mr. Phar feels just the way papa did about things; only papa couldn't talk so splendidly. He had a very poor vocabulary"—"Vocabulary!" I gasped—"except nasty words and swearing. But he meant just what Mr. Phar means, inside."
Phil, as she ended, began to make strange choking noises and retired suddenly into his handkerchief. Maltby put down his glass and stared at Susan.
"Young person," he finally said, "you ought to be spanked! Don't you know it's an unforgivable sin to spy on your elders!"
"But you don't believe in sin," responded Susan calmly, without the tiniest suspicion of pertness in her tone or bearing. "You believe in doing what you want to. I wanted to hear what you were saying, Mr. Phar."