"He's been such a good boy till now," said Mrs. Sterling, "but, of course, his father and I feel anxious. If we could only keep him here, out of harm's way, under our own eyes!"
Mrs. Mortimer murmured consolation.
"How kind of you! And your influence is so good for him. He thinks such a lot of you, Hilda."
Mrs. Mortimer, tried too hard, rose and strolled away. Harry's set seemed to end almost directly, and a moment later he was shaking hands with her, still keeping his eyes away from hers. She made her grasp cold and inanimate, and he divined the displeasure she meant to indicate.
"You must go and play again," she said, "or talk to the girls. You mustn't come and talk to me."
"Why not! How can I help it—now?"
The laughing at her and himself had evidently not come, but, bad as that would have been to bear, his tone threatened something worse.
"Don't," she answered sharply. "I'm very angry. You were very unkind and—and ungentlemanly last night."
He flushed crimson.
"Didn't you like it?" he asked, with the terrible simplicity of his youth.