“Why—why—,” began Mrs. Deane a little breathlessly, “do you think it would be quite right? You see, Laurie, maybe I’d ought to consider what she told me as confidential. I’m not sure she would like it a bit, she’s so sort of touch—proud.”
“Well, you stay out of it, then,” said Laurie resolutely. “I’ll attend to it myself, and if there’s any blame, why, I’ll take it. But I certainly do think that some one ought to—ought to do something, Mrs. Deane. Don’t you?”
“Well, I suppose they ought, Laurie, maybe. But perhaps it’s taking a good deal on yourself—I mean—”
“She needn’t know anything about it unless Goop comes across with an answer, and what she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her. You leave it to me, and don’t say anything about it to Miss Comfort. I’ll send this Goop guy a telegram that’ll wake him up. He ain’t so well in his goop. He ought to see—”
“Hello!”
That was Polly, to the accompaniment of the tinkling bell in the next room.
“Don’t tell Polly!” hissed Laurie, and Polly’s mother somewhat blankly nodded agreement.
“We’ve been talking about Miss Comfort,” announced Laurie as Polly joined them.
“Oh, is there anything new, mama? Has she heard from the lawyers again?”
“Not that I know of,” answered Mrs. Deane. “I haven’t seen her yet. She said she’d bring over those cream-puffs and the layer-cake, but she hasn’t.”