"Thanks, no, Mr. Gleason; I believe I'll wait here," was the reply, pleasant but decided.
"Why, Marion! Do come in!" cried Mrs. Truscott, hastening to the door.
Miss Sanford's face was flushing slightly, but her voice was gentle as usual.
"I'll wait for you, Grace; but I do not care for a lemonade, and—would rather not go in."
"Indeed, I don't care for one either. I only said yes because I thought, perhaps, you would like it—or would care to see the club-room," Mrs. Truscott protested, as she hurriedly came forth. "We are just as much obliged to you, Mr. Gleason, but—not to-day." And with that they resumed their homeward stroll. Once through the gate Mr. Gleason slackened the pace, so as to detain his fair companion a moment.
"Why would you decline my invitation?" he asked, in a tone of what was intended to be tender reproach.
"I prefer not to visit—the club-room, as I believe it is called."
"You would soon get used to it if you were in the Army," he ventured awkwardly.
"But I am not in the Army," she began, self-restrainedly enough; then, as though she could not repress the words, "Nor would I be if, as you say, I had to get used to that."
She has a temper then, quoth Gleason to himself, ruefully noting that he had made a bad move. It gave him an opportunity of putting in what was generally considered a pretty effective piece of work, however,—one that had been often employed on somewhat similar occasions, and will be again.