Carmella Commands
⸺” she hesitated for the word— “the Coletta Construction Company. Afraid!”
“What do you construct, Kate?”
“Cellars,” answered the girl defiantly.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mrs. Barrington. “You, or your father?”
Carmella laughed in turn—quite the equal of Mrs. Barrington’s—plus the added sincerity of thirteen years as compared with forty-one.
“Dad, of course! Dad’s the Construction part of it. He’s a whiz at that. Any time you want any cellars built, ask dad. But I’m the Company of it. When it comes to talking or writing, dad’s a dud. That’s where I come in. I’m the goods when it comes to the English part.”
“So I judged,” said Mrs. Barrington, smiling.
Her social instinct, synchronized to situations, told her that this was the moment. She went on quickly.
“But tell me, Kate, now that you trust me, why doesn’t your mother come to the sewing class?”
“Mother, or all the other women?”
Mrs. Barrington flushed slightly. Carmella’s perceptions were disconcerting.
“Your mother and other women,” she admitted.
Carmella gazed long and keenly at Mrs. Barrington, so long and so keenly that the latter was again almost embarrassed. Finally the girl spoke:
“You really want to know?”
“I really do, Kate.”
[22]
