“He can be awfully funny,” said Olive. “And now we’ll make some tarts out of the rest of that crust and use up some canned raspberries that are there on the shelf.”
“I’m so very sorry I spoke that way about tarts,” said Zelda, with real contrition; “but we’ll call them the tarts of peace.”
“I wasn’t a bit hurt,” pleaded Olive, “and I don’t care what you say; only he has been kind.”
“Then let his life be spared!” said Zelda, dramatically. “And now let’s make tarts, though we be hanged for it.”
A little later, while they awaited results from the oven and again discussed the opera, Olive remarked naïvely:
“I suppose you have your reasons for treating him that way.”
“Whom, what way?”
“Mr. Leighton; you snub him every chance you get.”
“Well, he ought to be snubbed; he thinks that because he and uncle are good friends that he’s my assistant guardian or something like that. This old-family-friend business makes me tired.”
“Well, of course, Captain Pollock isn’t an old family friend.”