“Why?” asked Linda in surprise, not that she had the slightest idea of doing any such thing, but because she wanted to know Harry’s reason. Unlike Ralph Clavering, Harriman Smith never stooped to petty jealousy.
“Well—I want to be fair, but—there’s something slimy about that man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, he’s too smooth. None of us fellows like him. It’s not because he’s an Englishman—I’ve known several of them, and thought them O.K., but—well—he just doesn’t click with me. So will you take somebody else?”
Linda smiled.
“I wouldn’t take Lord Dudley anyway, Harry, because he has gone away,” she replied. “But I really think you’re unfair about him. It’s because he’s a lot older than all you boys that he seems so different. He’s halfway between us and our parents. That sort of makes him a different generation.”
“You do like him, don’t you, Linda?” persisted the young man, keeping his eyes fastened on her, fearing her answer.
Linda shrugged her shoulders.
“You needn’t worry, Harry,” she said. She was silent a moment, thinking of something different. “I know what I’ll do!” she cried. “I’ll take Amy with me!”
“Amy!”