“I’ve got to rush, Momsey,” exclaimed Hazel, entering the door just as Gloria sprang into the closet.
“Mother!” cried Hazel. “Is Gloria using—my—room?”
“Shs-s-hh!”
“Is she?”
“Your father—”
“I don’t care anything about father. Tell me, is she?”
“Hazel, please keep your voice down,” begged the distracted mother. “You don’t know what I’ve been through—”
“I do, or I can imagine, for I know Gloria.
“I suppose she was furious—”
“No, she has been actually very sensible—”