“If I did not love my sister very much,” she asserted, “I would not stand for you for one moment.”
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence during which Cabot had an idea.
So when the food had been cleared away he asked the aureate maiden, “Can you smuggle a note to your sister for me?”
“Yes,” she assented gloomily, “and I shall tell her how you are treating me.”
At which he could not refrain from remarking, “Do you know, Quivven, I believe that you are falling in love with me.”
“You beast!” she cried at him. “Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” And she turned her face to the wall.
“Come, come!” said Cabot soothingly. “I don’t mean to tease you, and we must both think of your sister. The note. How long will it take you to deliver it and return?”
“Shall I hurry?” she asked guardedly.
“Yes.”
“Then it will take me less than one-twelfth of a day.”