“And Ellen’s such a complex person,” amended Mrs. Deverence. “A whirl of committees and things just suits her. Of course”—she looked brightly at Knollys—“this is all very well for a week, but for a lifetime——!”
“I think it might do quite well for a lifetime,” said Ellen, sitting very straight as she poured the coffee. “Two lumps, Hawley?”
“Er—thanks, three.” Hawley was staring at the graceful uplifted hands. “Ah—you really do that very well, you know, Ellen,” he allowed, graciously. “Don’t think I ever saw you pourin’ things before. You’ve always been at the hotel, haven’t you?”
“Yes”—Ellen looked at Knollys with a smile that had a twist to it—“always at the hotel.”
When Knollys looked back at her there was something in his eyes that seemed to sweep away ten years.
“Well,” Mrs. Deverence announced, cheerfully, “a house is very nice—we’ve had ours ever since we were married; but it’s a great care—oh, a shocking care, really!—and for you, Ellen——” she shrugged her pretty shoulders with a soft laugh. “I simply can’t imagine it. A house for you would be a joke!”
“Why?” Knollys turned to her very quietly. “Why do you think so?”
“Oh, dear me, now I do hope I haven’t said something ultra,” fluttered Sheila. “All I meant was the clubs and things, you know—dear Ellen has so many, and so much to do.”
“I dare say you are right,” said Ellen, slowly. “A house for me would be a joke. Yet—did I tell you, Knollys, what Gladys-Marie said yesterday? ‘Always seems t’ me,’ she said, ‘like a woman’s house is a sort of frame for her, only some poor things don’t care enough about it t’ more’n passepartout ’emselves.’”
“Ha! ha! Smart little baggage, isn’t she?” roared Hawley.