“David!”
As I was hurrying through the hall, she called me to her, where she was warming herself by the fireplace.
“You here?” I said, feigning surprise.
“B’rrr! You are cordial as an open door. They said you were at the Brinsmades’.”
“Yes.”
“Monsieur fait des conquêtes?”
I shrugged my shoulders and disdained a reply, which always irritated her.
“So you are in love—again, David?” she said, with her provoking smile.
“Does this amuse you?”