“Not a bit. I like it here. It’s very homey.”
“Don’t you think my house would be homey?”
Ellen looked at her dubiously and let that pass.
“Well, if you prefer the highly charged domesticity of this place to me and my Matthew, it’s up to you.”
Dick came out, seeking cocktails.
“I’m getting a drink and flirting with Ellen,” said Fliss.
“You’re probably trying to get Ellen away from us,” laughed Dick, “but I warn you that she won’t go. It’s been tried.”
It was only natural that Ellen should take an interest in the table conversation. She answered the bell herself, for the housemaid had cut her hand a few days before and, deliberately or otherwise, was retaining her clumsy bandages. It was obvious even to a listener so utterly untrained as Ellen that the old free give-and-take of the quartet was gone. They laughed just as much, gossiped as interestedly and haggled over their bits of philosophy as eagerly. Yet one could see that in these bits of philosophy, especially when they touched or seemed to touch upon habits of living, Cecily seemed to make an appeal to Matthew and Fliss to Dick. Ellen was very thoughtful as she washed her dishes, which the housemaid dried superciliously.
“Isn’t that Mrs. Allenby the prettiest thing you ever saw?” asked the housemaid.
“Not as pretty as Mrs. Harrison,” said Ellen, “but she’s very nice looking.”