“Quite right.”
“What a charming party,” said Flanders flippantly. “And where does Maude Lille come in?”
“Don’t joke. She is in a desperate way,” said Mrs. Kildair, with a little sadness in her eyes.
“And Harris?”
“Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken.”
“Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of respectability.”
“Of what?”
She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance.
“Don’t be an ass with me, my dear Flanders.”
“By George, if this were Europe I’d wager you were in the secret service, Mrs. Kildair.”