Mrs. Richards remained unabashed at her vis-a-vis’s palpable indirectness.  “I guess I’m old-fashioned, but, servants or no servants, I don’t believe I could let a guest of mine leave the house without breakfast.  It seems to me that if I’d been Mrs. Flint I’d have gotten up and made you a cup of coffee myself.”

Claire’s growing annoyance was swallowed up in a feeling of faint amusement.  “Perhaps Mrs. Flint wasn’t home,” she said, beckoning the waiter.

“Oh!” Mrs. Richards exclaimed with shocked brevity.

It was not until the arrival of Claire’s order of toast and coffee that Mrs. Richards found her voice again.

“This business of wives staying from home all night gets me,” Mrs. Richards hazarded, boldly.  “Why, I never remember the time when my mother remained away overnight ... not under any circumstances.  My father expected her to be there, and she always was.”

Claire distributed bits of butter over the surface of her toast.  She felt that in justice to the Flint family it was not right for her to give Mrs. Richards’s dangerous tongue any further scope, however tempting was the prospect of leaving such venomous inquisitiveness ungratified.

“I think you misunderstood me, Mrs. Richards.  I didn’t say that Mrs. Flint remained away from home last night.  As a matter of fact I didn’t stay at Yolanda, so I don’t know anything about it.”

“Oh!” faintly escaped Mrs. Richards for the second time that morning, but Claire was conscious that there was more incredulity than surprise registered in the lady’s tone.

“As a matter of fact,” Claire continued, stung to incautious exasperation, “I spent the night in Sausalito.”

Mrs. Richards met this information with a disarmingly bland smile.  “I didn’t know you had friends in Sausalito,” she said, letting a spoonful of coffee trickle back into her cup.

“I haven’t.  I spent the night in a lodging-house ... on the water-front....”

“My dear Miss Robson, really I....  Why, I hope you don’t think I was inquisitive!”

It was the simplicity of the challenge that made it impossible to be ignored.  Claire knew that she was trapped, but she was angry enough to decide on some reservation.

“The storm put the track between Yolanda and Sausalito out of commission,” Claire found herself snapping back too eagerly at her tormentor.  “We tried to make the last boat by auto, but we got stalled and missed it.  We had to walk a good half of the way.”

“I shouldn’t think that would have done Mr. Flint’s cold any good,” Mrs. Richards said, drawlingly.

“Mr. Flint’s cold?...  I don’t quite see what that has to do with it.”

“Oh, you said ‘we’ I somehow got the impression....”

“No, Mrs. Richards, you’ve misunderstood me again.”  Claire threw a cool, even glance at her antagonist.  “I made the trip from Yolanda to Sausalito in Mr. Stillman’s car.”