He seemed to enjoy my discomfiture. The message read:
"Pittsfield, Mass., Sept. 20.
"J. B. TORRENCE,"
Bainbridge Trust Co., New York.
Landed at Seattle a week ago, and have been motoring east from Chicago to see the country. Will reach Barton in four or five days. Please wire me at the Washington Inn, Lenox, whether house is in order for occupancy.
"Alice Bashford."
"Well, what do you say to that?" he demanded.
"I say it's taking unfair advantage," I answered savagely. "I've got to clear out; that's the first thing."
"Not necessarily. Your right to the garage is settled; she couldn't oust you if she wanted to. You've got to stay here anyhow till she comes; there's no ducking that. The widow of an uncle who did a lot for you, a stranger to the country; it's up to you to see her established. There are many little courtesies she would naturally expect from you."
"I'm delighted that you see my duty so clearly! If you hadn't assured me that she was safe at the end of the world I wouldn't have set foot here."
"The house is in order, I judge," he remarked, glancing about the room. "I've got to wire her that we're ready for her."