Ruth was too astonished for words. Mrs. Stovall did not miss the opportunity.
“What ails you at the supper? Are you sick?” The thin lips of the woman were pressed together in a straight line of determination.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fiddlededee! It’s Norma Tait that’s spoiled your appetite. What call have you to be so highty-tighty? Isn’t she good enough for you?”
“I would rather not discuss Mrs. Tait,” answered Ruth stiffly. “I don’t quite see why you should come into my room and talk to me like this, Mrs. Stovall.”
“Don’t you? Well, maybe I’m not very polite, but what I’ve got to say is for your good—and I’m going to say it, even if you order me off the place when I get through.”
The answer of Ruth was rather disconcerting. She said nothing.
“When I introduced you to Norma Tait you ’most insulted her. I’d like to know why,” demanded the housekeeper.
“I think I won’t talk about that,” replied the young woman with icy gentleness.
“Then I’ll do the talking. You’ve heard that fool story about Norma and Mac. I’ll bet a cooky that’s what is the matter with you.” The shrewd little eyes of Martha Stovall gimleted the girl. “It’s all a pack of lies. I ought to know, for it was me that asked Mac to drive Norma down to Wagon Wheel in his car.”