Helen felt herself change color and as she tried to get quick control caught sight of Barbara’s face. It was almost white, but not as if white from shock or pain—rather an ugly white, lips compressed, eyes lifted angrily.
“I don’t consider myself in the least responsible for Ted’s company, Mildred,” she said sharply.
“Aren’t you afraid to stay alone in the house with just Mathilda?” went on Allie.
Barbara looked her contempt.
“If you are there,” Allie went on, “call up Mrs. Wilkins and tell her I’ve got to have those new white skirts by noon Wednesday. If she doesn’t get them here I won’t pay for them.”
“Write her your grouch,” said Bob, graciously, “I’ve got my own errands.”
They left Barbara at the portico of the big stone house where the shades were drawn down and the windows closed.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right here?” asked Helen.
“Oh, yes,” said Bob, “the housekeeper’s here and father’s going to take me back to-morrow night after I get my shopping done. Thanks so much for taking me up. And I do feel so guilty—”
But Jerrold speeded the motor and the sound of her voice was lost.