“All right—be along presently!” called Bertram. And then to Eleanor:
“You must tell me—you can’t keep me hanging by the toes until I see you again.”
“The rest means—since I am being perfectly fair to you—that I can’t tell.” Now something like strong emotion touched her voice—“Don’t think I am coquetting with you—don’t believe that it is anything but my effort to be fair.” She turned on this, and stepped through the open window.
Bertram struggling to compose his face, Eleanor wearing her old air of sweet inscrutability, they faced the quick, perceiving glance of Kate Waddington who sat pouring tea from the crack between two shell bowls.
Eleanor settled herself on the teak-wood stool.
“You must come out on the balcony before we go,” she cried. “I never saw the city lights so wonderful.”
“Well,” said Kate, “it all depends on the company!”