"Good night!" she said abruptly. It was her way of terminating an awkward moment.
"Good night!" Eddie answered, rather absent-mindedly.
With her volume of "Magnificent Women" tucked under her arm, Angelica went back into her own room.
"He’s a fool," she said to herself, "keeping all those people; but there is something about him. I don’t know—I guess he’s kind of magnificent himself."
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
Sharp at ten o’clock the next morning Angelica knocked at Polly’s door. Her eyes were dancing, she was filled with an exhilarating sense of mischief, for she had been having breakfast with the doctor, and a regular rowdy breakfast it had been—the old delightful badinage of the street and the factory.
When she had come down the dining-room was deserted, and she had lingered about waiting for any one who might come. Presently, in had come the dapper little doctor. His face had lighted up marvelously when he saw her there alone; and he had told her archly that she was welcome as the flowers in the spring.
"That’s all right!" Angelica had retorted, belligerently. "Never you mind about me!"
And so the conversation had proceeded, flowery compliments on his side and a continuous show of resentment on hers—all as it should be.