justed a four-piece blue-fox throw about her shoulders, and drew on a pair of wrinkled-topped gloves.
"Where are you going?" demanded the dark-browed expounder of the law, in a tone savoring unmistakably of the caveman age.
"I regard that as entirely my own affair," retorted the girl in blue-fox, just as unmistakably reverting to the age of ice.
"Where are you going?" repeated the neolithic young giant in tweeds.
"Will you kindly permit me to open my own door?" said Teddie, with her chin up.
"Where are you going!" demanded Gerry, for the third and last time.
For one long moment of silence Teddie inspected him as though he were something under plate-glass, something behind Zoo bars.
"I'm going home!" she finally told him.
"Why?" exacted her altogether too obtuse tormentor.
"Because I'm tired of all this!" was the intense but low-noted reply.
