studied unconcern, quite ignoring the young Artemisia still glowering at him over the edge of it. Then he looked up, with the ghost of a yawn.
"By the way, I saw the Commodore in town yesterday," observed Teddie's uncle as he leisurely turned a page. "He was telling me a queer thing about young West."
"Indeed!" said Teddie, without moving.
"The Commodore was saying that Gerry's going to marry that Rivers girl," offhandedly announced the maculated old scoundrel in immaculate cricketer's flannel.
He waited behind his paper, for several seconds. Then he heard a mirthless little laugh. Then he heard the contemptuous ejaculation of "That frump!" And then he heard quick steps along the marble walk that bisected the Terrace.
"Where are you going?" he demanded as he looked up to see Teddie making off with the stride of a Diana.
But Teddie entirely ignored that question. Instead of answering that not unnatural interrogation she was calling
