“That’s exactly what I’m going to do—”
“You’ll do nothing—” burst out Mimi, but at a sign from Jean she stopped talking. The meal was finished in silence. Mary, her broad face, deep brown of colour and framed with black hair that curled attractively, set in unrelieved displeasure, grimly ate without speaking until Jean rose to leave the table.
“You’ll find on the table in the hall the telegram to Atlanta telling them you’ll be there ready for work on the first. Wait until I finish,” she demanded when Jean started to speak. “Today is the sixteenth—that gives us less than two weeks in which to pack and move. Papa writes me he has sent his cheque for the house he’s giving us and it’s all ready for us to move into—”
“But what about this house?” Jean broke in, panic in his voice at the unexpected imminence of quitting his beloved New Orleans forever.
“I’ve seen