"Mrs. Wilson is quite right," he said gravely. "We're a selfish lot. If
Miss Caruthers is a responsibility, let us share her."
"To arms!" Jim said, with an affectation of lightness, as they put their
glasses down, and threw open the door. Dal's retort, "Whose?" was
lost in the confusion, and we went into the library. On the way Dallas
managed to speak to me.
"If Harbison doesn't know, don't tell him," he said in an undertone.
"He's a queer duck, in some ways; he mightn't think it funny."
"Funny," I choked. "It's the least funny thing I ever experienced.
Deceiving that Harbison man isn't so bad--he thinks me crazy, anyhow.
He's been staring his eyes out at me--"
"I don't wonder. You're really lovely tonight, Kit, and you look like a
vixen."
"But to deceive that harmless old lady--well, thank goodness, it's nine,
and she leaves in an hour or so."
But she didn't and that's the story.