Page:Hopkinson Smith--armchair at the inn.djvu/340

 moment’s consideration. Madame even in a fisherman’s tarpaulins would be welcome—provided only that she was really inside of them.

With the whirl of her motor into the court-yard at dusk, and the breathing of its last wheeze in front of the Marmouset, the plump little woman sprang from her car muffled to her dimpled chin in a long waterproof, her two brown, squirrel eyes laughing behind her goggles. Instantly the importuning began, everybody crowding about her.

Up went her hands.

“No—please don’t say a word and, whatever you do, don’t invite me to stay to dinner, because I’m not going to; and that is my last word, and nothing will change my mind. Oh!—it is too banal—and you’ve spoiled everything. I didn’t think I’d see anybody. Why are you not all in your rooms? Oh!—I am ready to cry with it all!”

“But we can’t think of your leaving us,” I begged, wondering what had disturbed her, but determined she should not go until we had found out. “Pierre has been at work all the morning and we”