"Well, Miss Maliphant, will you—" he began, and then he stopped.
I raised myself a little on the seat lest I should miss the words. But no words came; and then suddenly it struck me that I was playing a mean part, listening here to what was not meant for my ears, and I rose, rustling the leaves of the shrubs as I went by. Even then there was no sign from those two within the room. What ailed the man? He was not wont to be so awkward. And I felt that Joyce was blushing; it made me furious. I moved on, meaning to go in, but the next words arrested me.
"At least," said Joyce, "I think it would be lovely for a lady to wear in town."
Then it was some article of dress.
"I see you don't really admire it," replied Harrod, in a disappointed voice. "I was afraid I shouldn't know how to choose such a thing properly. I'm sorry. I was thinking—" He made a long pause, and then he added, abruptly, almost savagely: "Well, I was thinking of offering it to your sister. I hear it is her birthday."
A blush crept over my cheek, even out there where there was no one to see me. But I could not have told whether I was pleased or not.
"Oh, do, do please give it to her, then," cried my sister, eagerly. "I'm sure she'll be pleased. I'm sure she would like to have it. Don't think of what I said."
She was quite distressed. Why was she so much distressed over it?
"I don't think it's really worth giving to any one," said he, with a laugh; and then he said something quite commonplace, I forget what, and I heard him throw down the parcel and go out of the room.
What did it mean? His behavior was scarcely even polite. I waited a minute, wondering; I thought I heard a little sob through the window. I hastened in-doors and into the parlor. Yes, Joyce turned away hastily as I came in, and I could see that she dried her eyes furtively; she had been crying.