She said, “Well, I’m half dead! This Queen business is exhausting.” She sighed and then laughed. “All right. I won’t ask. Positively eaten with curiosity, but a lady to the end.
Anyway, I’m dreadfully glad you’re back again!”
The phone rang. She ran to answer.
Outdoors, Charles and Marian came in view. They were carrying pails of warm water, mops, cloths and a box of soap powder. Without ado, they began to wash the outside of a kitchen window, their dark heads bobbing in busy unison. Presently Charles called to Duff to lower the top section of the window, which he did. Duff remembered that Mrs. Yates had held a family council at which a list of necessary vacation chores had been drawn up. Charles and Marian were evidently working their way through the list. It wasn’t much of a holiday, Duff thought, but they didn’t appear to mind.
Eleanor stopped talking, started back, and the phone rang again. Her voice took up a new conversation with a pleasure he knew to be stimulated.
Meanwhile, through the now-open window, Marian and Charles began to discuss their sister, somewhat for Duff’s benefit.
“Phone again!” Charles said disgustedly. “Rings all day! You answer, it’s for Eleanor. Your pals try to phone you. The line’s busy!”
“A pain!” Marian agreed. “The doorbell rings, it’s flowers for the Queen. Or it’s a telegram for the Queen. Or clothes in big, fancy boxes. You walk out on the porch, some character is waiting for the Queen — maybe even with a mustache and in striped pants. Every time she skids past you, she’s got on something new. Gifts from the local couturiers.” She made deliberate hash of the French word. “You pick up a newspaper and what do you see?
The Queen, wearing her million-dollar, photogenic smirk!”
Duff chuckled; he was back “at home” all right. And very glad to be.