He opened the door and went out, slamming it after him with a crash.
Andrée struggled against a great desire to cry, or to shout after him, she didn’t know which.
“Little beast!” she said, aloud. “Vulgar little bully!”
“What’s the meaning of this?” said a severe voice behind her, and she turned to see her father.
“There’s no meaning in it at all,” she answered. “Al’s gone home, that’s all.”
“Did you quarrel, Andrée?”
She was surprised; she had forgotten that fathers were supposedly authorized to ask such impertinent questions.
“No,” she said. “He thought I would come home this evening, but I wasn’t ready.”
Gilbert saw some feminine mutiny in this.
“Did you refuse to accompany him?” he asked, in a portentous voice.