painting in oil

painting in oil
She stared at him, a little suspiciously. "I be afraid?" she echoed. "Certainly not. Why should I be? I've never been afraid before. What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"
"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone on this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."
"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary stranger," she said shortly. "He said something silly to me - just in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I feel better now."
As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue about the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it - when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He's on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to escort the two of 'em back after the play. Besides, he said he'll put them into a cab and blow the expense, if the panto' goes on too long for him to take 'em home."