Twilight Sleep
thing but canned beef; and Nona watched the two under guarded lids.
The telephone tinkled, and the butler announced: "Mr. Manford, madam."
Nona Manford looked up. "For me?"
"No, miss; Mrs. Wyant."
Lita was on her feet, suddenly animated. "Oh, all right. . . Don't wait for me," she flung over her shoulder as she made for the door.
"Have the receiver brought in here," Jim suggested; but she brushed by without heeding.
"That's something new—Lita sprinting for the telephone !" Jim laughed.
"And to talk to father!" For the life of her, Nona could not have told why she stopped short with a vague sense of embarrassment. Dexter Manford had always been very kind to his stepson's wife; but then everybody was kind to Lita.
Jim's head was bent over the pilaff; he took it down in quick undiscerning mouthfuls.
"Well, I hope he's saying something that will amuse her: nothing seems to, nowadays."
It was on the tip of Nona's tongue to rejoin: "Oh, yes; it amuses her to say that nothing amuses her." But she looked at her brother's face, faintly troubled under its surface serenity, and refrained.
Instead, she remarked on the beauty of the two yellow arums in a bronze jar reflected in the mahogany of the dining-table. "Lita has a genius for flowers."
