Mr. Evringham urged the visitor to stay to dinner, but he declined and once more shook hands.
“Good-by, Jewel,” he said to the child. “Sunday, you know.”
“Yes indeed, I know,” she returned, an irresistible tendency to hop moving her feet. On nearer acquaintance she had found Mr. Bonnell exhilarating.
“Good-by, Nat,” said Eloise.
He looked into the face on which rested a cloud. “I think you might be a degree more attentive,” he suggested.
“How?”
“Oh—take me to the gate, for instance.”
Eloise smiled and went with him. He turned with a slight bow that included the group, and they strolled down the path.
“It's all up, Madge,” remarked Mr. Evringham, half smiling. “No use wriggling, no use staying away from the mother. Might as well yield gracefully. I think Ballard might have been told, that's all.”
“There was nothing to tell, father! How can you be so unkind? That's just Nat's manner. He is used to everybody liking him, and always having his own way; but Eloise never—she never”—the speaker saw that if she continued, in a moment more she would be weeping, and she certainly was not going to weep in this company. So she contented herself by glaring toward the gate, where could be seen two figures in earnest conversation.