“Well, just how often is Murrell here?” he demanded.
“I told you—every few days. He and Tom seem wonderfully congenial.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Tom always sees him in his office,” explained Betty. She might have made her explanation fuller on this point had she cared to do so.
“That's the first decent thing I ever heard of Tom!” said Norton with warmth. “But he ought to kick him off the place the first chance he gets.”
“Do you think Belle Plain is ever going to look as it did, Charley?—as we remember it when we were children?” asked Betty, giving a new direction to the conversation.
“Why, of course it is, dear, you are doing wonders!”
“I've really been ashamed of the place, the way it looked—and I can't understand Tom!”
“Don't try to,” advised Norton. “Look here, Betty, do you remember it was right on this terrace I met you for the first time? My mother brought me down, and I arrived with a strong prejudice against you, young lady, because of the clothes I'd been put into—they were fine but oppressive.”
“How long did the prejudice last, Charley?”