MacIntyre, the housekeeper, as much a fixture on the place as the
lake or the live-oaks, received the imputation of the ranch's
resources of refreshment with mild indignation, and was about to give
it utterance when Octavia spoke.
"Oh, Mrs. MacIntyre, don't apologize for Teddy. Yes, I call him Teddy.
So does every one whom he hasn't duped into taking him seriously. You
see, we used to cut paper dolls and play jackstraws together ages ago.
No one minds what he says."
"No," said Teddy, "no one minds what he says, just so he doesn't do it
again."
Octavia cast one of those subtle, sidelong glances toward him from
beneath her lowered eyelids--a glance that Teddy used to describe as
an upper-cut. But there was nothing in his ingenuous, weather-tanned
face to warrant a suspicion that he was making an allusion--nothing.
Beyond a doubt, thought Octavia, he had forgotten.
"Mr. Westlake likes his fun," said Mrs. Maclntyre, as she conducted
Octavia to her rooms. "But," she added, loyally, "people around here
usually pay attention to what he says when he talks in earnest. I
don't know what would have become of this place without him."
Two rooms at the east end of the house had been arranged for the
occupancy of the ranch's mistress. When she entered them a slight
dismay seized her at their bare appearance and the scantiness of
their furniture; but she quickly reflected that the climate was a
semi-tropical one, and was moved to appreciation of the well-conceived
efforts to conform to it.
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