“I had something to say to you. I—I dare say it is hardly pension etiquette for you to go over to your room and let me say it there?”
Harmony smiled above the flannel.
“Could you call it through the door?”
“Hardly.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Dr. Gates, rising. “I'll go over, of course, but not for long. There's no fire.”
With her hand on the knob, however, Harmony interfered.
“Please!” she implored. “I am not dressed and I'd rather not.” She turned to Peter. “You can say it before her, can't you? She—I have told her all about things.”
Peter hesitated. He felt ridiculous for the second time that night. Then:—
“It was merely an idea I had. I saw a little apartment furnished—you could learn to use the stove, unless, of course, you don't like housekeeping—and food is really awfully cheap. Why, at these delicatessen places and bakeshops—”
Here he paused for breath and found Dr. Gates's quizzical glance fixed on him, and Harmony's startled eyes.