"Per--perhaps they're hers," I said weakly after a minute.
"Stuff and nonsense!" declared Miss Cobb. "Don't you think I know my
own, with L. C. in white cotton on the band, and my own darning in the
knee where I slipped on the ice? And more than that, Minnie, where those
tights are, my letters are!"
I glanced at the pantry, where her letters were hidden on the upper
shelf. The door was closed.
"But--but what would she want with the letters?" I asked, with my
teeth fairly hitting together. Miss Cobb pushed her forefinger into my
shoulder.
"To blackmail me," she said, in a tragic voice, "or perhaps to publish.
I've often thought of that myself--they're so beautiful. Letters from
a life insurance agent to his lady-love--interesting, you know, and
alliterative. As for that woman--!"
"What woman!" said Miss Summers' voice from behind us. We jumped and
turned. "I always save myself trouble, so if by any chance you are
discussing me--"
"As it happens," Miss Cobb said, glaring at her, "I WAS discussing you."
"Fine!" said Miss Julia. "I love to talk about myself."
"I doubt if it's an edifying subject," Miss Cobb snapped.
Miss Julia looked at her and smiled.
"Perhaps not," she said, "but interesting. Don't put yourself out to be
friendly to me, Miss Cobb, if you don't feel like it."
"Are you going to return my letters?" Miss Cobb demanded.
"Your letters?"
"My letters--that you took out of my room!"
"Look here," Miss Julia said, still in a good humor, "don't you suppose
I've got letters of my own, without bothering with another woman's?"
"Perhaps," Miss Cobb replied in triumph, "perhaps you will say that you
don't know anything of my--of my black woolen protectors?"
"Never heard of them!" said Miss Summers.
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