"Let us talk all that over cosily to-morrow," she said. "The point now
is that there are burglars in the house."
"Burglars!" cried Mr. Bennett aghast. "I thought it was you playing
that infernal instrument, Mortimer."
"What on earth should I play it for at this time of night?" said Mr.
Mortimer irritably.
It appeared only too evident that the two old friends were again on the
verge of one of their distressing fallings-out: but Jane Hubbard
intervened once more. This practical-minded girl disliked the
introducing of side-issues into the conversation. She was there to talk
about burglars, and she intended to do so.
"For goodness sake stop it!" she said, almost petulantly for one
usually so superior to emotion. "There'll be lots of time for
quarrelling to-morrow. Just now we've got to catch these...."
"I'm not quarrelling," said Mr. Bennett.
"Yes, you are," said Mr. Mortimer.
"I'm not!"
"You are!"
"Don't argue!"
"I'm not arguing!"
"You are!"
"I'm not!"
Jane Hubbard had practically every noble quality which a woman can
possess with the exception of patience.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278