mass again, it occurred to him that the remark was exceptionally silly.
“Does it have to go in slowly like that—the whole bottleful?” he inquired lazily.
She nodded. “Or it curdles,” she explained. “The cook sprained his wrist yesterday. He never allows anybody to make the mayonnaise—he can’t trust them—and I was glad to do it for him. He says mine is as good as his. Did you ever see him?”
“Well, no,” Varian returned. “But he doesn’t need to be seen to be appreciated.”
A strange suspicion crept over him.
“Do you often— Do you do much— How is it that you—” He could not say it properly. Was it possible that Mrs. Dud— It was unworthy of her!
She caught his meaning, and her cool gray eyes met his with their uncompromising directness. He seemed convicted of unnecessary shuffling.
