“I’ve heard that before,” said Paul, rubbing his nose, “I’ve observed it, and I know it.”
“I think you’re sort of detestable to-night.”
“It’s your fault, then. I think you’ve ruined my disposition for life. The next thing you’ll be trying to make me be sweet to that fat old dowager with the moustaches!”
“Hush, Paul! That’s Mrs. Deacon.”
“Nobody could hear me in all this noise. She seems in an awful stew about something, doesn’t she?”
Jane did not answer. Paul stared at her.
“What’s the matter with you? You look as if you were going to have a fit.” Still Jane did not answer. There was indeed a frozen look on her face.
“Well,” said Paul, eyeing her, “what have you been up to now?”
“N-nothing,” said Jane.
“That won’t go with me, old salt. What have you done to that poor, defenseless old widow?”