“You—here!” Judith halted abruptly.
“Yes.” Polly pushed her chair away from the typewriter. “Why not?” The question was put with studied insolence and Judith’s eyes widened. “I am working on your father’s manuscript.”
“But at this hour—”
“I am working overtime.” Polly flipped a note in her direction. “Your father here asks me to give him ‘additional service.’” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Any objections?”
“Objections? No.” Judith’s manner retained its old friendliness, and she ignored the girl’s manifest hostility.
“Then why question my presence here?”
“I do not question your right to be here.” Judith chose a chair near Polly. “I have just seen Uncle John—”
“Well?” as Judith stopped.
“Uncle John was told by your mother that you were dining with us.”
“Pardon me,”—Polly’s interruption was curtly spoken, although the words chosen were politeness itself—“Mr. Hale was informed that I was with you.”