"Why, I don't see how you possibly can, Mildred," said Clover coolly. "I heard you promise Mr. and Mrs. Page to meet them in the Art Gallery at two o'clock, and show Mrs. Page some of our favorite pictures."
Mildred expected some protest from Jack, and was disconcerted that none came. "I only told them that if I was at the south entrance at two o'clock I would act as their cicerone," she answered.
"Well, my dear, having said so much," suggested Clover gravely, "I think the least you can do is to be there, considering that they are our guests."
Still Jack did not interfere. Mildred could not forbear hurling one glance at him from beneath her eyelashes, but it might have been a gaze. Van Tassel was absently viewing the dispersing audience.
Her eyes and cheeks burned as they had on the night he refused to accompany her to witness the fireworks, but as on that occasion she carried the matter with a high hand.
"Very well, then you have lost my company at lunch, too. You and Jack would be sure to make me late, dawdling at table. Au revoir," and as they nodded to her, she swept away.
Clover looked at her companion and tried to repress the mirthful laugh that bubbled over her lips.
"Jack, you wouldn't be human if you hadn't enjoyed that."
"Then I must be inhuman," he responded rather ruefully, "for I give you my word I'm scared almost to death."
"Don't you worry, mon ami; I know Mildred to the depths of her noble, generous, overbearing, over-indulged soul."