“Dear Miss Carfax,—Please accept these trifles. I don’t know whether you will think me an impertinent old fogey, but there you are. I couldn’t send you a turkey, you know. Too large an order for one.
“I wish you were spending Christmas with us. Better luck next year.
“Very sincerely yours,
“John Parfit.”
Eve found it rather a struggle to pull through Christmas, and then, as though for a contrast, came her disagreement with Hugh Massinger. It was a serious disagreement, so serious that she took a taxi back to Bosnia Road at three in the afternoon, angry, shocked, and still flushed with scorn.
She went down to Miss Champion’s next morning, and was immediately shown into Miss Champion’s private room. The lady of the white hair and the fresh face had put on the episcopal sleeves. She met Eve with an air of detached and judicial stateliness, seated herself behind her roll-top desk, and pointed Eve to a chair.
“I have come to tell you that I have given up my secretaryship.”
She had a feeling that Hugh Massinger had put in an early pleader, and she was not surprised when Miss Champion picked up a letter that was lying open on the desk.
“This is a most deplorable incident, Miss Carfax.”
Her tone challenged Eve.