"Ja," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona, no."
"You're a bright girl—from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her. "Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up Miss Verona until she comes down. She's in the lib'ry, eh?"
Yep, I was doin' my best. We'd exchanged the greetin's of the season and was camped cozy in a corner davenport just big enough for two, while I was explainin' how tough it was not havin' her along for the drive, and I'd collected one of her hands casual, pattin' it sort of absent-minded, when—say, no trained bloodhound has anything on Aunty! There she is, standin' rigid between the double doors glarin' at us accusin'.
"So you returned after all that, did you?" she demands.
"I didn't know but you might want to tack on a postscript," says I.
"Young man," says she, just as friendly as a Special Sessions Judge callin' the prisoner to the bar, "you are quite right. And I wish to say to you now, in the presence of my niece, that——"
"Now, Aunty! Please!" breaks in Verona, shruggin' her shoulders expressive.
"Verona, kindly be silent," goes on Aunty. "This young person known as Torchy has——"
When in drifts Selma and sticks out the silver card plate like she was presentin' arms.
"What is it?" asks Aunty. "Oh!" Then she inspects the names.