They did not hear her come in. Gregory was sitting with his eyes on Margaret, telling her something and she was listening in a protesting way. It occurred to Freda that of course they were in love. She had suspected it vaguely from their attitude. Now she was sure.
She coughed and they looked up.
“It’s my damsel in distress,” said Gregory, rising, “did everything clear up? Is the ogress destroyed?”
“If she is, poor Miss Duffield had to do it.”
“She wouldn’t mind. She likes cruelties. She’s the most cruel person—”
“Hush, Gregory, don’t reveal all my soul on the spot.”
“Cruel—and over modest. As if a soul isn’t always better revealed—”
“You can go as far as you like later. Just now you might carry Freda’s suitcase upstairs.”
He took the suitcase and followed them, entering Freda’s little room which he seemed to fill and crowd.
“So this is where you take refuge from the ogress?”