"Oh, come along, don't get mad!" he said. "What's your little game? Are you staying up here to draw old Flood on, or is it something else? I won't tell!"
She felt herself enveloped in a hot wave of anger and disgust, as if the fetid breath of some foul creature had blown toward her. She sprang from her chair and went swiftly toward the long window, and throwing it open stepped down to the piazza.
Pendleton followed as calmly as if nothing had been said to arouse her; but she was spared an answer, even a look, for Eleanor and Flood were coming back to the house, Flood declaring that it was time for their adieux.
Rosamund was glad; she had been unexpectedly glad to see them, but now her pleasure was gone. She felt sick at heart, and wanted to be alone. Yet her pride sustained her until they were gone; she stood on the veranda to wave farewell to them as if nothing had happened, one arm about Yetta's shoulders, framed against the background of the little brown house that Flood thought so inadequate a shelter for a creature so beloved and so rare.
Flood felt that he had been discretion itself. He had learned his lesson, and was now too anxious for ultimate success to risk alarming her; but every move she made, every look, every tone had been as meat and drink to his longing.
On their way back past the Summit his mind and heart were full of her, from her first silent greeting to the last glimpse of her with her arm across the child's shoulders. How like her unerring taste, he thought, to have chosen as friend so exquisite a creature as that Mrs. Reeves; and how right Mrs. Reeves had been in all her praise of Rosamund! It had seemed to him to-day that her face had been more than ever full of dancing play of color; certainly her cheeks had flamed when she had come out of that long window to meet him.
But Pendleton broke in on his dreams. "Our Rosy was looking exceedingly blooming," said he. "Wonder what's up?"
He managed to throw something of insinuation into his tone.
"Oh, shut up, you ass!" said Flood.
Whereupon Mr. Pendleton raised his eyebrows, smiled, and proceeded to whistle the "Merry Widow Waltz," which he knew Flood detested, for one immortal hour.