“You flatter yourselves. The Regulators in North Carolina did the starting.”
“That wasn’t till after our Stamp Act riot.”
“Sure enough; you score one there. At all events, you would still be under England’s dominion if we hadn’t come to your aid; though from the looks of it, that’s where you want to be, and your Bunker Hill will go for nothing.”
Then Rhoda arose in a towering rage. “You are a detestable creature! I wish I had never seen you. If I were a man, I’d—I’d fight a duel with you, and—”
“Kill me?” said James, leaning toward her. “You can slay me now with your killing glances if you will. ’Deed, Miss Rhoda, I do love to make you mad. You are always running down Maryland, you know, and calling us fire-eaters, and it just does me good to make the sparks fly. Look around here—please look.”
But Rhoda persistently kept her head turned away, perhaps to hide the tears of anger standing in her eyes. She was not to be mollified by any soft speeches.
“What are you up to, James?” called his aunt. “How you do love to tease. I don’t think you will give Rhoda a very good idea of Southern gallantry.”
James looked properly repentant. “’Deed, Miss Rhoda,” he said softly, “I’m sorry, I’m dreadfully sorry. You’re not crying?” in troubled surprise.
“No, I’m not,” snapped Rhoda. And, getting up, she passed him swiftly, with head up, to enter the house.
“Sho!” exclaimed James, looking after her, “I’ve been and gone and done it this time, Aunt Martha. She’ll never forgive me, will she?”