"You will please not think of me at all, or speak to me, ever again!" she coolly said, and left the room.
Brent looked at the door through which she had disappeared. For several minutes he stood, without any sign of movement, except that his teeth were pressing rather hard upon his lower lip.
"John Barleycorn, you're a damned sneak," he muttered. "I've half a notion never to speak to you again!"
Then, with a sigh, he went up stairs to dress.
CHAPTER XVIII
A DINNER OF SILENCES
The dinner was late, because Uncle Zack, wishing to make an everlasting impression upon these neighbors of more moderate circumstances, had spurred the cook to the limit of her capacity. So family and guests were scattered about the porch, conversationally distrait as people are wont to be while momentarily expecting the servant's announcement.
Nancy, in whose toilette discerning eyes would have seen a generous share of Ann and Jane, was talking to the Colonel; who, in his turn, was making her position of honor guest less trying than she had pictured it during that long day of suspense.
Brent, terribly in the blues, sat at the extreme end of the porch, pretending to read the morning paper which had come in that afternoon's rural mail. Jane and Ann were near by, and Jane was noticeably quiet. Bob, having in mind his tobacco crop, called to the reader: