“You act as though you thought it was!” Evelyn flung back.
“I’m not acting; you’re doing enough of it!”
“You’ve probably had far more experience in such scenes!”
“With much better actors than your husband, I hope!”
“Humph! I don’t believe we’re going to like each other.”
“The regret is not mine, I assure you!”
Grace turned to a mirror to straighten her hat. Her preparations for departure were provocative of thought in Atwood’s mind. He expressed the thought immediately, evidently with the laudable hope of lessening the tension.
“Oh, Miss Durland, won’t you let me take you home? I can run you into town without the slightest trouble.”
Evelyn’s surprise at this suggestion betrayed itself in a spurt of coffee that missed the cup she was filling and spread in an amber stain on the table cloth.
Grace was walking toward the veranda door drawing on her gloves.