“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she cried.
“No, I’m not!” he growled.
But he was, or at least was dimly conscious of his egregious misbehavior; for he looked neither at Hillyer nor his wife, and was red now where he had been purple.
“But you are, though!” She turned her face toward Hillyer, without loosing her hold on Seth’s coat. “Don’t you mind him, Mr. Hillyer! He’s just a big bear. And Haig has been a trial to us. Marion’s my guest, and––” She looked up into Seth’s beard again––“If you think you’re going to send her away like this––”
She stopped short, as on a sudden thought, and then, with a giggle, buried her face in his flannel shirt. And the next thing, as unexpected as her blue-eyed rage, she dropped her hands from his coat, stooped to catch up the hem of her skirt between thumb and forefinger of each hand, and began to pirouette around the room.
“Oh, ho!” she exclaimed, laughing triumphantly, 161 her little body swaying as she tripped, with low curtsies to Seth and Hillyer, who for the moment forget their animosity in wonder at this feminine diversion. “Beautiful! Gorgeous! Oh, splendid!”
She stopped, at length, in front of Seth, dropped to one knee, bowed till her golden head almost touched the floor, and rose again to stand with her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo, her face flushed with excitement.
“Seth Huntington!” she cried ecstatically. “Do you know what we’re going to do?”
He merely stared.
“We’re going to heap coals of fire on his head.”