“Very well,” he said; “it’s of no consequence. Now tell me what you were doing last evening before you went over to the house?”
At this Carleton showed a disposition to be both haughty and ironical.
“Am I being questioned,” he said, “and by you? Well, before I went to Miss Van Norman’s I was walking in the rose-garden with Miss Burt. You saw me from your window.”
“I did,” said Rob gravely. “Were you with Miss Burt until the time of your going over to the Van Norman house?”
“No,” said Carleton, with sarcastic intonation. “I said good-night to Miss Burt about three-quarters of an hour before I started to go over to Miss Van Norman’s. Do you want to know what I did during that interval?”
“Yes.”
“I was in my own room—my den. I did what many a man does on the eve of his wedding. I burned up a few notes,—perhaps a photograph or two,—and one withered rose-bud,—a ‘keepsake.’ Does this interest you?”
“Not especially, but, Schuyler, do drop that resentful air. I’m not quizzing you, and if you don’t want to talk about the subject at all, we won’t.”
“Very well,—I don’t.”
“Very well, then.”