“But every lady has a right to decline a gentleman’s company wherever she is,” he responded in his usual suave tone. “I saw you coming here, and I’ll admit I was bold enough to follow.”
“And what for?” she answered, in her blunt way, “I never invited you.”
“No, you didn’t, and I never expect you will. But you are such a saucy, fascinating little wood-nymph that I couldn’t help it. I am sorry, though, that you and your worthy aunt refused my yacht yesterday. I wanted an opportunity to get better acquainted with her and yourself as well, and thought that a good way.
“Do you love the ocean,” he continued, as Chip made no response, “and is this village your real home, or do you reside at Peaceful Valley?”
“I live here now,” returned Chip, resolving to be brief in all her answers and hoping he would betake himself away.
She did not like him, nor his smooth, polished speech. She felt that it was all affected, and that at heart he meant no good toward her. Then his failure to recognize her when with his lady friends still rankled. She knew well enough that he dared not admit acquaintance with a calico-clad country girl at that moment. And what the gossips of Christmas Cove insinuated about him and this widow awoke her contempt.
Totally unused to the ways of fashionable society as she was, for him to play court to a widow evidently ten or fifteen years his senior seemed unnatural.
His almost nauseating and persistent flattery of herself was equally objectionable. All this flashed over her now while he was talking.
“You must find it lonesome here,” he said, in response to her admission; “but perhaps you have a beau, a sweetheart, somewhere, whom you care for.”
Chip colored slightly, but made no answer.