XVII
Amy had, in fairness, to be told as August waned. To Jean's suggestion that very likely either the stenographer or the manicure would be glad to share the room of the three dormers, she replied that she could easily afford to keep it on by herself while she remained.
"It won't be for long," she vouchsafed airily. "In fact, I'm going to be married myself."
Jean's arms went round her instantly, the restraint of months forgotten.
"And you've never breathed a word!" she reproached.
"No more have you," retorted Amy, glacial under endearments.
"I know, I know. But you have seemed so different. You have kept to yourself, and I thought—"
"You thought I wasn't straight," Amy took her up bitterly as Jean hesitated. "I knew mighty well what was in your mind every time I got a new shirt-waist or a hat."
"You weren't frank with me."