Her eyes were flashing now; her face had gone crimson-coloured, and her little foot was tapping the floor. She had emotions which ran up her thermometer with the rapidity of a lightning's flash. The altitude of their tempers just then was about equally high.
"Don't keep calling me Dick like that," he said. "It's irritating."
"What's the matter?"
"With me? Nothing!"
"There is."
"Very well, there is. Have your own way. I know that way—you are like the Pears' Soap boy—you won't be happy till you get it."
"Dick!" She almost spat out his name in her fierce emphasis. "You are not going—you shall not go to town to-day!"
"All being well," he replied calmly—white heat calm—"I shall catch the three-thirty-five up."
She was white too, with annoyance. Managed to choke down some of the things she was burning to say; was alive to what their effect would be if uttered. She knew Dick; experience had taught her how large was the amount of patience needed to cope with his impetuosity. Her foot heavily on the pedal of her temper, she gave forth sweet sounds:
"What does this mean? Tell me, Dick. Why are you going?"