“Abram, are you twitting me?”
Mr. Pantin ignored the accusation, and observed astutely:
“I presume you’ve done your share of talking, and that’s why—”
“She is impossible, and what you ask is impossible,” Mrs. Pantin declared firmly.
“It’s not often that I ask a favor of you, Prissy.” His tone was conciliatory.
Mrs. Pantin met him half way and her voice was softer as she answered:
“I appreciate that, Abram, but there are a few of us who must keep up the bars against such persons. Society—”
“Rats!” ejaculated Mr. Pantin coarsely.
The hand which she had laid tenderly upon his shoulder was withdrawn as if it harbored a hornet.
“I don’t understand this at all—not at all,” she said, icily. “However,” very distinctly, “it is not necessary that I should, for I shall not do it.” She folded her arms as she confronted him.