"He's thirty-four if he's a day." She leaned forward in her chair and pointing up to the bay asked: "Why is that window open, Harold ?" Harold Hazlewood showed his first sign of discomfort.

He shifted in his chair.
"It's a hot night, Margaret." "That is not the reason," Mrs.Pettifer retorted implacably.
"Where is Dick ?" "I expect that he is seeing Mrs.Ballantyne home." "Exactly," said Mrs.Pettifer with a world of significance in her voice.
Mr.Hazlewood sat up and looked at his sister.
"Margaret, you want to make me uncomfortable," he exclaimed pettishly.
"But you shan't.

No, my dear, you shan't." He let himself sink back again and joining the tips of his fingers contemplated the ceiling.

But Margaret was in the mind to try.

She shot out her words at him like so many explosive bullets.
"Being friends is one thing, Harold.