“Parker, I almost hate you.”
“My dear girl!”
“And that woman, of course he will tell her.”
“Who?”
“Kate Murchison.”
“No one ever accused Kate Murchison of being a gossip.”
“She will have the laugh of us, that is what makes me mad.”
Betty Steel pushed her chair back from the table, and went and leaned against the mantel-piece. She was white and furious, she who rarely showed her passions. All the vixen was awake in her, the spite of a proud woman who pictures the sneer on a rival’s face.
“Parker!” And her voice sounded hard and metallic.
“Well, dear.”