The doors in the Fenimer house opened silently, so that though Christine, who was facing the door, saw him at once, Linburne, whose back was turned to it, was unaware of his presence, and answered:
“You ought to have more pride than to want to see a fellow who has made it so clear he doesn’t care sixpence about seeing you.”
Christine openly smiled at Max, as she answered: “Well, I do want to see him,” and Linburne turning to see at what her smile was directed found himself face to face with Riatt.
Max made a gesture to the footman, and shut the door behind his hasty retreat, then he came slowly into the room.
“In one thing you are mistaken, Mr. Linburne,” he said. “I do care whether or not I see Miss Fenimer.”
Linburne was angry at Christine, not only for insisting on seeing Riatt, but for the lovely smile with which she had greeted him. He was glad of an outlet for his feelings.
He almost shrugged his shoulders. “An outsider can only judge by your conduct, Mr. Riatt,” he answered. “And I may tell you that you have subjected Miss Fenimer to a good deal of disagreeable gossip by your apparently caring so little.”
“And others by apparently caring so much,” said Max.
Christine was the only one who recognized at once the fact that both men were angry; and she did not pour oil on the waters by laughing gaily. “You can’t find any subject for argument there,” she observed, “for you are both perfectly right. You have both made me the subject of gossip; but don’t let it worry you, for my best friends have long ago accustomed me to that.”
“I hope you won’t think I’m asking too much, Mr. Riatt,” said Linburne, with a politeness that only accentuated his irritation, “in suggesting that as your visit is, I believe, unexpected, and as mine is an appointment of some standing, that you will go away and let me finish my conversation with Miss Fenimer.”