"I could not work with Mr. Ellis under any circumstances!"
"George!" cried Judith hotly.
Then there was silence as the men looked at each other. Had Judith been the woman that in her weaker moments she was pleased to think herself, she would have studied the two. But she was neither cool nor impartial; she had put her feelings on Ellis's side, and looked at Mather with indignation. She missed, therefore, the pose of his head and the fire of his eye. She missed as well the narrowing of Ellis's eyes, the forward stretch of his thin neck—snaky actions which expressed his perfect self-possession, and his threat. Neither of them spoke, but Judith did as she turned away.
"You are very rude," she said coldly. "Come, Mr. Ellis, let us walk again." Ellis followed her; Mather stood and watched them walk away.
"It was shameful of him," said Judith when she and Ellis were out of hearing.
"He is young," remarked the other. He was watching her now, as he had watched Mather, out of narrow eyes. Mather's words meant a declaration of interest in Judith, confirming gossip. She was supposed to have refused him, and yet she was biting her lip—would she be quite so moved if Mather had not the power to do it? Ellis promised himself that he would remember this.
"He will know better some day," he said. "But at least he is out of the question. Can you not suggest some one else?"
"There is Mr. Pease," she answered.
Pease and himself—oil and water! How little she knew! and he almost laughed. But he answered meditatively: "He is very—set."
"I see my father is coming for me," she said.