Mrs. Harrod made for the hall immediately. “I’m sure you don’t mind,” she said, without turning around. They heard her climbing the second flight of stairs. “You young people won’t miss me,” she called back.
The younger Miss McKelvey suddenly sat up very straight. “What’s the matter with you, Flora Baron?” she demanded.
“The matter?”
“The way you’re looking at Victor—yes, and the way he’s looking at you. What’s the mystery?”
Flora listened. Up-stairs a door opened and shut, and then there was silence. “I was wondering if Mrs. Harrod would find things just to her liking up there,” she explained.
“Oh! Well, if she doesn’t, it will be her own fault. People who take possession of a house can’t be too particular.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Flora thoughtfully. She was listening intently again. There was a movement down-stairs. Mrs. Shepard was serenely complaining to herself on the ground of many interruptions. The street door opened and shut and Flora heard resonant, familiar tones. Baron heard them, too.
“I’ll see,” Mrs. Shepard was heard to say, and then there was the sound of her heavy tread on the stairs.
Again Flora and Victor looked at each other dubiously.
“What is the matter with you?” demanded Miss McKelvey—the other Miss McKelvey, this time.