“Father, I've changed my mind, I'm not going away.”—Act II.
It was nearly ten o'clock when they had finished. They sat a little longer listening to the gipsy music, weird and barbaric. Very pointedly, Shirley remarked:
“I for one preferred the music this afternoon.”
“Why?” inquired Jefferson, ignoring the petulant note in her voice.
“Because you were more amiable!” she retorted rather crossly.
This was their first misunderstanding, but Jefferson said nothing. He could not tell her the thoughts and fears that had been haunting him all night. Soon afterward they re-entered their cab and returned to the boulevards which were ablaze with light and gaiety. Jefferson suggested going somewhere else, but Mrs. Blake was tired and Shirley, now quite irritated at what she considered Jefferson's unaccountable unsociability, declined somewhat abruptly. But she could never remain angry long, and when they said good-night she whispered demurely:
“Are you cross with me, Jeff?”
He turned his head away and she saw that his face was singularly drawn and grave.