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Updated: May 8, 2025
He bobbed his head, lowered his eyes abashedly, and noticed that along the shelf of her forearm, held against her waist, she bore many silver toilet articles, and such a huge heavy fringed Turkish bath-towel as he had never seen before. He lay awake to picture her brilliant throat and shining hair.
"Oh, my dear Eve!" he complained, "didn't you get wet enough in the storm? And for mercy's sake where have you been?" Out of the depths of her dripping hair and her big plushy bath-towel little Eve Edgarton considered her father only casually. "Don't delay me!" she said, "I've got to make four hundred muffins! And I'm so late I haven't even time to change my clothes!
Francesca fled. One cannot effectively scold a moist nineteen-year old boy clad only in a bath-towel and a cloud of steam. Another messenger arrived before Francesca's breakfast was over. This one brought a letter from Sir Julian Jull, excusing himself from fulfilment of the luncheon engagement.
"Father," she drawled mumblingly through intermittent flops of bath-towel; "Father you said I could keep the next thing I saved. Do you think I could keep him?" "What?" demanded her father. Altogether unexpectedly little Eve Edgarton threw back her tousled head and burst out laughing. "Oh, Father!" she jeered. "Can't you take a joke?"
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