“Mr. Craige assures me that I am no longer a pauper,” she answered, and her tone was dry.
Wallace flushed. “The papers said that you were wealthy, very wealthy,” he persisted.
“It depends on how you compute wealth,” she said. “And how much faith you put in newspapers.” A faint mocking smile touched her lips and vanished. “Why this interest in my fortune, Leigh?”
“Because,” he spoke with unconcealed bitterness, “it puts another barrier between us. Your aunt’s hatred, and now this, this—”
“Please stop,” Kitty raised her hand slightly. “Why keep up the farce longer?”
“Farce?”
“Flirtation, if you like it better,” she sighed involuntarily. “Just an idle flirtation.”
“Idle nothing! You’d have married me if you hadn’t met Ted Rodgers,” he blurted out.
“Stop!” Her tone, though low, was imperative. “Here is luncheon. Suppose we discuss another topic. When does Nina Potter return from New York?”
“I have no idea,” shortly. “Have a muffin, do?” and he extended the bread plate toward her, then relapsed into abstracted silence.