But whatever else Tom Loring knew, it is certain that he was not infallible on the subject of women and their feelings. He recognised the fact (having indeed suspected it many times before) when Adela, on the telling of his tidings, flashed out in petulance,
"She's sent for you back?" she asked; and Tom nodded.
"And you're going?" was the next quick question.
"Well, I could hardly refuse, could I?"
"No; I suppose not—at least not if you're Maggie Dennison's dog, for her to drive away with a stick and whistle back at her pleasure."
Tom had been drinking tea. He set down the cup, and feebly stroked his thigh with his hand; and he glanced at Adela (who was rattling the tea things) with deprecatory surprise.
"I hadn't thought of it like that," he ventured to remark.
"Oh, of course, you hadn't. Maggie sends you away—you go. Maggie sends a footman (well, then, Harry) for you—and back you go. And I suppose you'll say you're very sorry, won't you? and you'll promise you won't do it again, won't you?"
"I don't think I shall be asked to do that," said Tom, speaking seriously, but showing a slight offence in his manner.
"But if she tells you to?" asked Adela scornfully.