ne, she listened,
got her answer, threw off the switch with a sweep of her thumb, and
fumbled among the papers on the table until she found an envelope. She
addressed it with a hasty scrawl of her pencil, sealed it with a vicious
little spat of her hand, and then sat looking down upon it thoughtfully.

"I suppose I've got to deliver that immediately, at once, without
delay," she said. "There's supposed to be an answer. Chicken, some queer
things happen in this business. Here's that weak-eyed, hollow-chested
Saunders, that seems to have just life enough to put in about ten hours
a day reading 'The Duchess,' getting cipher messages like the hero of a
detective story. And sending them, too, by the way. We operators are not
supposed to think; but all the same--" She got her receipt-book, filled
rapidly a blank line, tucked it under her arm, and went up and tapped
Evadna lightly upon the head with the envelope. "Want to come along? Or
would you rather stay here? I won't be more than two minutes."

She was gone five; and she returned with a preoccupied air which lasted
until she had disposed of three chocolates and was carefully choosing a
fourth.

"Chicken," she said then, quietly, "do you know anything about your
uncle and his affairs?" And added immediately: "The chances are ten to
one you don't, and wouldn't if you lived there till you were gray?"

"I know he's perfectly lovely," Evadna asserted warmly. "And so is Aunt
Phoebe."

"To be sure." Miss Georgie smiled indulgently. "I quite agree with you.
And by the way, I met that polysyllabic cowboy again--and I discovered
that, on the whole, my estimate was incorrect. He's emphatically
monosyllabic. I said sixteen nice things to him while I was waiting for
Pete to wake up Saunders; and he answered in words of one syllable; one
word, of one syllable. I'm beginning to feel that I've simply got to
know that young man. There are deeps there which I am wild to explore.
I never met any male human in the least like him. Did you? So
absolutely--ah--inscrutable, let us say."

"That's just because he's part Indian," Evadna declared, with the
positiveness of youth and inexperience. "It isn't inscrutability, but
stupidity. I simply can't bear him. He's brutal, and rude. He told
me--told me, mind you--that he doesn't like women. He actually warned
me against thinking his politeness--if he ever is polite, which I
doubt--means more than just common humanity. He said he didn't want me