“What!”
“I had gone out on the porch for a breath of fresh air,” I explained rather sullenly. “Just as I stepped off the porch I ran into him.”
I stopped as if the incident were concluded.
“Go on,” suggested the O’Leary man after waiting a moment; he was being very polite and very pleasant and altogether disagreeable.
“That’s all,” I said waspishly. I fastened my gaze on his extremely well-made shoes—an attention that I have found invariably disconcerts men—vain creatures! But this one was impervious.
“And what did you say?” he persisted with the most insulting good-humour.
“I said ‘Well——’ ” I stared steadfastly at the shoes.
“And what did he say?”
I resisted an evil impulse to tell him literally and with feeling.
“I hope you don’t think I’d repeat such language,” I replied, and I’m sure he smiled.