Evelyn bit her lip and nodded, a nod that might have been intended for Grace or quite as definitely for an enlarged photograph of an ancestral whiskered McGovern in a gilt frame that adorned the wall behind her.
Grace glanced at Bob, still rooted to the floor, and he remarked with badly-feigned cheerfulness.
“Well, I suppose we might as well go home—” a suggestion not without ambiguity, as there were four persons in the room and two at least, having just arrived and awaiting refreshments, might be assumed to prefer to linger.
“Not just yet!” said Grace, walking slowly toward Evelyn. “There’s something I’d like to say to Mrs. Cummings.”
“Oh, really——”
“We’re going in a minute,” interposed Cummings, with sudden animation. “I think maybe, Grace——”
“Grace!” Evelyn repeated scornfully. “I’m going home. Jimmy, I want you to take me home.”
“Yes, Evelyn; of course we’ll go whenever you like,” said Atwood. “But, we ought to explain things a little. I mean you and I ought to explain them,” he elaborated as he saw her lips tighten. “I wouldn’t want Bob to think——”
“I don’t care what Bob thinks!” she flared. “He lied to me; he told me he had a business engagement, to get out of taking me to Uncle Fred’s! And this was the engagement!”
“But everything’s going to be explained,” Atwood persisted. “You know there’s always an explanation for everything, and Bob’s the best fellow in the world—you know that Evelyn.”