“It's all arranged,” said Miles Morse with dismal iteration.
“Does that mean I'm discharged?”
“If you want to put it that way.”
“And I'm to go up there to the country—alone—and entertain my California privet hedge?”
Her little foot tapped the ground as it had on the unforgettable occasion of that first interview. The Meanest Man in Our Square winced. Molly saw it, and her eyes grew, tender, but her tone was still uncompromising. “What am I discharged for?”
Silence.
“For not being old enough to be your housekeeper?” She looked the merest wisp of a girl with her color coming and going as she spoke.
He muttered something undistinguish-able.
“For not being ugly enough?” And she contrived to look bewilderingly pretty.
“Why do you plague me, Molly?” he burst out.