"I wish to talk with you a few minutes, Mr. Scarborough," she said coldly, storm in her brave eyes.
"At your service," he answered with strained courtesy. And he walked beside her.
"I happen to know," she began, "that they're going to expel you and Fred Pierson the next time you leave here without permission."
"Indeed! You are very kind to warn me of my awful danger." He looked down at her with a quizzical smile.
"And I wish to say I think it's a disgrace that they didn't do it long ago," she went on, her anger rising to the bait of his expression.
"Your opinions are always interesting," he replied. "If you have nothing further I'll ask your permission to relieve you of——"
"No," she interrupted. "I've not said what I wished to say. You're making it hard for me. I can't get accustomed to the change in you since last year. There used to be a good side to you, a side one could appeal to. And I want to talk about—Fred. You're RUINING him."
"You flatter me." He bowed mockingly. "But I doubt if HE'D feel flattered."
"I've told him the same thing, but you're too strong for me." Her voice trembled; she steadied it with a frown. "I can't influence him any longer."
"Really, Miss Shrewsbury——"