tend to contest this claim?" demanded the man of law, taking up his hat.
Teddie swung about on him, with a little flush of anger on her magnolia-white cheeks. Then, for once in her life, discretion put a hand on the sleeve of impulse. About her rebellious young body she felt the phantasmal jaws of her Uncle Charlton's waffle-iron coming closer and closer together.
"I must decline to enter into any discussion of the matter until I have seen my attorney," she said with dignity. It was what was usually said, she remembered, at all such junctures.
"Then might I inquire just who your attorney is?" inquired William Shotwell.
And Teddie's dignity, for a moment, betrayed serious evidences of collapsing. She had no attorney. She didn't even know of any attorney. But she couldn't afford to betray her isolation.
"You will hear from him in due time," she said with what was plainly a valedictory smile, as she preceded her persecutor to the door.
