“What–a dinner now? At half-past three? And with this wind fairly driving me crazy? Well, I can’t hireanybody to keep such hours for me and─”
There was a murmur of low-voiced protest as Virginia pleaded his cause and then, as the Widow burst out anew, the young man pushed back his chair. His blue eyes, half hidden beneath bulging brows, turned a steely, fighting gray, his wind-blown 4hair fairly bristled; and as he listened to the last of the Widow’s remarks his lower lip was thrust up scornfully.
“You danged old heifer,” he muttered and then the kitchen door flew open. The baleful look which he had intended for the Widow was surprised on his face by Virginia and after a startled moment she closed the door behind her.
“Why–Wiley Holman!” she cried accusingly and a challenge leapt into his eyes.
“Well?” he demanded and gazed at her sullenly as she scanned him from head to foot.
“I knew it,” she burst out. “I’d know that stubborn look anywhere! You double up your lip like your father. Honest John!” she added sarcastically and brushed some crumbs from the table.
“Yes–Honest John!” he retorted. “And you don’t need to say it like that, either. He’s my father–I know him–and I’ll tell you right now he never cheated a man in his life.”
“Well, he did!” she flared back, her eyes dark with anger, “and I’ll bet–I’ll bet if my father was here he’d–he’d prove it to your face!”
She ended in a sob and as he saw the tears starting the son of Honest John relented.
“Aw, Virginia,” he pleaded, “what’s the use of always fighting? He’s gone now, so let’s be friends. I was just going by when I saw you on the gallery, and I thought–well, let’s you and I be friends.”