You'd never know you were telling her
anything--but she'd extract every detail in ten seconds. . . . I
understand she adores you, Phil. What have you done to her?"
"That's likely, too," he remarked, remembering his savagely polite
rebuke to that young matron after the Minster dinner.
"Well, she does; you've probably piqued her; that's the sort of man she
likes. . . . Look at my hair--how bright and wavy it is, Phil. Tell me,
_do_ I appear fairly pretty to-night?"
"You're all right, Nina; I mean it," he said. "How are the kids? How is
Eileen?"
"That's why I sent for you. Eileen is furious at being left here all
alone; she's practically well and she's to dine with Drina in the
library. Would you be good enough to dine there with them? Eileen, poor
child, is heartily sick of her imprisonment; it would be a mercy, Phil."
"Why, yes, I'll do it, of course; only I've some matters at home--"
"Home! You call those stuffy, smoky, impossible, half-furnished rooms
_home_! Phil, when are you ever going to get some pretty furniture and
art things? Eileen and I have been talking it over, and we've decided to
go there and see what you need and then order it, whether you like it or
not.
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