“Ah, good-morning, Kate.”
There was not a quiver of emotion on Catherine Murchison’s face. She looked at Mrs. Betty as she would have looked at some pert shop-girl who assured her that some warranted material had been ruined by chemicals in the wash. Parker Steel’s wife was deprived of any suggestion of a triumph.
“I hope you are not tired after Mr. Cranston’s enthusiasm.”
“Intelligent partners never tire me. May I echo the inquiry?”
Her feline spite marred the perfection of Mrs. Betty’s patronizing pity.
“Many thanks. You will excuse me, since I am a woman with responsibilities. You have no children to act as mother to, Betty.”
The barren woman’s lips tightened. The words, with all their innocent irony, went home.
“Oh, I detest children. All the philosophers will tell you that they are a doubtful blessing.”
“A matter of temperament, perhaps.”
“Some of us resemble rabbits, I suppose.”