CHAPTER XVII
A CONFERENCE OR TWO
In the wood half-way between the Yellow House and home I met Bruce Deville. I should have hurried on, but it was impossible to pass him. He had a way of standing which took up the whole path.
“Miss Ffolliot,” he said, “may I walk home with you?”
“It is only a few steps,” I answered. “Please don’t trouble.”
“It will be a pleasure,” he said, sturdily.
I looked at him; such a faint, acrimonious smile.
“Haven’t you been almost polite enough for one day?” I asked.
He seemed to be genuinely surprised at my ill-humor.
“You mean, I suppose, because I walked home with that girl,” he answered. “I did so on your account only. I wanted to know what she was going to do.”
“I did not require any explanation,” I remarked.