She got up, too, staring at him with round eyes.
“No, I’ll wait,” she said.
Landis stood aside for her, conscious that Bernard had come to his feet as though something had stung him. Perhaps on that account he addressed Isabelle with a faint drawl in his voice.
“By the way, Miss Harrison, I don’t see why you should quarrel with your father over that! Mr. Russell didn’t want to work and that was that, wasn’t it?”
She turned back to him with a sort of heavy archness that was rather pathetic.
“Oh, no, it wasn’t!” she said. “You see, we want to get married this winter. But Daddy wouldn’t let us get married at all until Hobart got a job. He has tried, poor boy! But it seems as if there’s a conspiracy against him! He can’t find anything!”
“Of course! I understand. Thank you very much!”
While Isabelle moved into the hall, Landis paused to fling at Bernard a droll, challenging glance, a glance not untinged with compunction. The answer was a faint and comprehending snort. They fell into step behind Isabelle.
“You might give me a chance to finish my questions!”
Bernard chuckled.