Alice looked at him appealingly.
"But I thought—"
"We are none of us accountable for our thoughts, Miss Endicott, nor perhaps for a want of faith in our friends."
She moved toward him with a look of so much appeal that Dick discreetly turned his back under pretense of looking for something on his writing-table.
"At least," she said, her voice lower than usual, "you will let me apologize for the way in which I spoke to you the other morning."
"Oh, don't mention it," he returned carelessly. "You were quite justified."
He turned away with easy nonchalance, as if the matter were one in which he had no possible interest.
"At least," she begged, "you'll pardon me, and shake hands."
"Oh, certainly, if you like," answered he; "but it doesn't seem necessary."
Her manner changed in the twinkling of an eye. Indignation shone in her face and her head was carried more proudly.