“Go away, Connie! I need just one more.”
“You had more than you needed at the Burtons’. Please, Leila, be sensible. Helen, send the tray away.”
“Leila’s all right!” said Thomas, but at a sign from Mrs. Torrence he picked up the tray and carried it out.
“I don’t think it pretty to treat me as though I were shot when I’m not,” said Leila petulantly. She walked to the end of the room and sat down with the injured air of a rebellious child.
“Leila, do you know what time it is?” demanded Constance. “Your father’s having a dinner and you’ve got to be there.”
“I’m going to be there! There’s loads of time. Everybody sit down and be comfortable!” Leila composedly sipped her glass as though to set an example to the others. Thomas had come back and Constance said a few words to him in a low tone.
“Oh, shucks! I know what you’re saying. Connie’s telling you to take me home,” said Leila. She turned her wrist to look at her watch—frowned in the effort of focusing upon it and added with a shrug: “There’s all the time in the world. If you people think you can scare me you’ve got another guess coming. It’s just ten minutes of six; dinner’s at seven-thirty! I’ve got to rest a little. You all look so ridiculous standing there glaring at me. I’m no white mouse with pink eyes!”
“Really, dear,” said Mrs. Torrence coaxingly, walking toward Leila with her hands outstretched much as though she were trying to make friends with a reluctant puppy. “Do run along home like a good girl!”
Leila apparently had no intention of running along home like a good little girl. She dropped her glass—empty—and without warning caught the astounded lady tightly about the neck.
“Step-mother! Dear, nice step-mamma!” she cried. “Nice, dear, sweet, kind step-mamma! Helen’s going to be awful good to poor little Leila. Helen not be bad step-mamma like story books; Helen be sweet, kind step-mamma and put nice, beautiful gin cocktails in baby’s bottle!”