And at that moment Nora came into the room, flushed either with physical exertion, or the consciousness of her own virtue. She found a place at the tea-table, and panting a little demanded to be fed.
“It’s hungry work, carrying up trunks!”
“You didn’t!” exclaimed Constance, in large-eyed astonishment. “I say, I am sorry! Why did you? I’m sure they were too heavy. Why didn’t Annette get a man?”
And sitting up, she bent across the table, all charm suddenly, and soft distress.
“We did get one, but he was a wretched thing. I was worth two of him,” said Nora triumphantly. “You should feel my biceps. There!”
And slipping up her loose sleeve, she showed an arm, at which Constance Bledlow laughed. And her laugh touched her face with something audacious—something wild—which transformed it.
“I shall take care how I offend you!”
Nora nodded over her tea.
“Your maid was shocked. She said I might as well have been a man.”
“It’s quite true,” sighed Mrs. Hooper. “You always were such a tomboy, Nora.”