"Cooped up!" exclaimed Farvel, bitterly.
"I guess you know it! And Church! Church! Church! And prayers three times a day! And a small town! Oh, it was deadly!"
"No other reason?" asked Farvel, coldly.
She got up, suddenly impatient. "I've told you the truth!" she cried. Then more quietly, seeing how white and drawn he looked, "I'm sorry it worried you." She set the cage on a chair near the double door.
"Worried!" echoed Farvel, bitterly. "Ha! ha!" And with significance,
"And who was concerned in your going?"
"That's a nice thing for you to insinuate!" she returned hotly.
"I beg your pardon."
Mrs. Milo fell to rocking nervously. She was enjoying the situation to the full; still—the attitude of Farvel toward this young woman was far from lover-like; while her attitude toward him was marked by hatred badly disguised. Hence an unpleasant and unwelcome thought: What if this "Laura" turned out to be only a relative of the clergyman's!
Farvel's apology moved Clare to laughter. "Oh, that's all right," she assured him, impudently; "I understand. The more religious people are, you know, the more vile are their suspicions"—this with a mocking glance at Mrs. Milo.
The green velour rocker suddenly stood still, and Mrs. Milo fairly glared at the girl. Clare, seeing that she had gained the result she sought, grinned with satisfaction, and resumed her chair.