Elsie arose from her seat as the others greeted him, and stood with her slight figure as erect and indignant as her mutinous spirit could make it. Herbert turned toward her. “I am here by permission of high authority,” he laughed, glancing at Margaret. “I have no apology to make this time.”
“My sister’s guests are always welcome,” said Elsie icily, as she sank upon the piano stool and industriously undertook to rearrange several sheets of disordered music.
Herbert made no reply, but stood composedly watching the trembling fingers and the swiftly-mounting blushes on the fair face.
“You are nervous,” he said at last. “Let me do that for you. I am delightfully calm.”
Something in the exasperatingly cool tones made Elsie glance up, and then as quickly glance down again.
“It is useless to keep on the defensive any longer,” Herbert resumed as he coolly took the sheets of music from her. “I’ve come to beg a truce.”
“And have you forgotten all I said?”
“Not altogether; but I am of a forgiving disposition.”
“You forgive very easily, it seems to me,” said Elsie haughtily.
“Sometimes, and one of these times is when a spiteful little girl says things she doesn’t mean.”