“Oh, then, perhaps you know the Willoughbys,” said Jane. “The Willoughbys, of Willoughby Hall.”
“Do they live in an ugly mass of architecture on a hill, and does the lady look like a grenadier and the man like a drummer boy in his first engagement?”
Jane threw back her head and laughed. “That’s Aunt Susan and Uncle Jacob to a T,” she exclaimed. The man flushed with embarrassment.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Of course I had no idea they were relatives of yours.”
“You haven’t offended me,” Jane hastened to assure him. “I know they’re impossible, though Uncle Jacob really means well. I’m on my way down there now.”
“For a visit?” queried the man, who was staring at her in an impersonal sort of way that rather piqued her.
“Not if I know myself, and I flatter myself I do,” she responded, decidedly. “No, I’m going down to give them—Aunt Susan particularly—a piece of my mind.”
“Lucky Aunt Susan!” commented the man, still regarding her with that air of detached interest.
“You say that because you’ve never had a piece of my mind,” observed Jane, darkly. “Because I’m desperately poor——”
“Poor!” exclaimed the man, disbelievingly, as his eye took in the details of her exceedingly smart get-up.