Carmella Commands
tioned. He leaned back and spoke with vast implications of authority.
She answered “Yes,” or “No,” or “Indeed, really,” at appropriate intervals until he had ended his narrative. Suddenly, under the resentful glare of his daughter’s eyes, it appeared to occur to him that he had duties to his wife’s guest.
“How do you do, Miss Coletta?” he asked, turning cheerfully to Carmella and bowing slightly. “Please excuse me for talking shop at the table. Bad habit, I know.”
He laughed delightedly, like a boy, glancing at his wife and daughter as if the joke were on them. His daughter glowered. He went on:
“Mrs. Barrington has spoken of you. You’re a Hope House girl, I understand. Never been there myself, but Mrs. Barrington tells me it’s an interesting place. Tell me, please, what you do there. You’re not as interested in Greendale as Mrs. Barrington is, I’ll wager. She’s looking for a pearl necklace out of it.”
“Yes, sir!” said Carmella.
Icicles and red-hot pokers had raced up and down her back as he had told his wife of the state of affairs in Greendale. The game was bigger and more confusing than she had thought. Pearl necklaces! Of city ordinances and annexation projects she had the haziest of notions. But evidently, in some mysterious
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