“I know. You swore there was no man in this. Then on top of it, you rouse my darkest suspicions by acting like a school-girl yesterday and tearing your hair because the first casual man that comes along doesn’t gaze soulfully at you when he takes his departure.”
“Gloria, I hate you! D’ you mean Mr. Remsen? Surely you don’t for a minute imagine—”
“No; I don’t suppose Jack has anything to do with it, personally. But I seem to get a strong indication of Man as a species somewhere in the background of this business.”
Pink grew Miss Darcy Cole; then red, and eventually scarlet, under Gloria’s interested regard.
“You see!” exclaimed that acute person. “Come, now. Explain.”
“It’s—it’s Maud Raines’s fault,” blurted Darcy.
“Agreed that it’s all Maud’s fault. Go on.”
“No; it isn’t all Maud’s fault,” corrected Darcy with a palpable effort to do exact justice. “It’s partly the British War Office’s fault.”
“International complications. Maud and the British War Office. Mr. Lee had better look out!”
“Not at all! It isn’t Maud that the British War Office has been writing letters to.”