“In what way have I offended?” Wallace asked.
“You were so rude to one of my guests at my tea yesterday.” Mrs. Parsons watched him as he made himself comfortable in a dainty settee under the lamp.
“Rude to one of your guests? Impossible!” ejaculated Wallace in surprise. “To whom do you refer?”
“Nina Potter.” Mrs. Parsons had not taken her eyes off him, and she caught the sudden shifting of his gaze. “Why are you and she no longer friendly?”
“You are mistaken.” Wallace spoke stiffly. “We are—I am still a great admirer of hers—”
“And Kitty—”
Wallace flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. “Kitty never had very much use for me,” he admitted, rather bitterly. “She—she—seems to be tired—”
“Of being a cat’s paw?”
“Mrs. Parsons!” Wallace was on his feet, his eyes snapping with anger.
“Don’t go,” Mrs. Parsons’ smile was ingratiating. “Forgive me if I blunder, Leigh. Sometimes an outsider sees most of the game. Will you take a friendly piece of advice—”