“You are not going with the others?” said Tregarvon ungraciously.
“There are enough of them for you to be spiteful at, without adding me to the number,” she returned, adding: “Besides, I wanted to speak to you. It was I who asked Mr. Carfax to drive down here.”
She had come around to his side of the car and he looked her squarely in the eyes.
“Be careful what you say to me to-day, Richardia: I am not the same man that I was a few days ago.”
“Boo!” she said, with the little grimace that always set his blood afire; “you make me shivery when you look and talk that way. I came to try to help you—not to be frozen.”
“Say it,” he commanded.
“How can I, when you won’t let me? I have a piece of news for you—something that I imagine you’d like to know. Have you written to Miss Wardwell lately?”
“Yes; Sunday night in Chattanooga.”
“And this is Wednesday: have you had a reply?”
“No; not yet. What is your news?”