“I do feel a little tired,” answered Lola. “I slept some, of course, but not for hours.”
“That’s queer,” exclaimed Dick. “I knocked on your door when I went upstairs about eleven, and you didn’t answer. If you were awake you must have heard me. You didn’t leave your room again, did you?”
“Why should I?” She sat up rather flushed, and turned to him angrily. “Where would I have gone? What are you talking about? Why do you always say such absurd things?”
“Come now, Lola,” broke in Mrs. Harlan soothingly. “Dick hasn’t said anything dreadful. Don’t be cross, please, and spoil a day like this.”
“No, don’t, for pity sake don’t let’s have any rows,” said Bob earnestly; “nothing in the world so bad for my digestion.”
“Anyone would think you had something to hide, by the way you are jumping on me,” complained Dick resentfully. “I don’t see any crime in asking you if you had stepped out of your room for a minute.”
“I have told you that I did not.”
“You might have run in to see Madge.”
“No! No! No!” She spoke almost in a scream. “How many times do I have to repeat it? No! No! No!”
“Come on, Madge; that’s the three-alarm signal,” exclaimed Bob, as he got to his feet heavily. “Great God, Lola,” he looked down at her, his fat, good-natured face expressing his deep disgust, “why can’t you learn to keep your disposition in the ice chest? You’re all right when you are all right, but you’re a wonder at kicking up a row.”