“Why have you been avoiding me so persistently?” she asked, making room for the summoned one to sit beside her on the settee.
“Perhaps it was because I had just sense enough to see that I had served my turn and wasn’t needed any more,” he answered in a tone that might have been copied faithfully from the king of the contractors in his most brittle mood.
“Silly!” she chided, with a strained little laugh. “I could forgive you for saying such a thing as that if you were only sincere. It isn’t Cumberleigh and Freddy Wishart, David; it’s yourself.”
“You wrote and told them where you were,” he accused.
“As it happens, I did not. But you needn’t try to hide behind a shadow—or two shadows. You have had other reasons for avoiding me. For one thing, you have met Mr. Lushing, and you have quarreled with him.”
“Everybody seems to know that,” he complained. “Go on.”
“For another thing, you have determined, in spite of all that we have talked about, to fight Mr. Lushing with his own weapons.”
This seemed to be too accurate to be classed with the shrewd guesses, and he accused her again.
“You’ve been prying into Plegg.”
“I haven’t seen Mr. Plegg in weeks; I haven’t been prying into any one, and I haven’t needed to. You have been showing very plainly that you have broken with the ideals—all of them. Why couldn’t you stay up on the pedestal, David? It was such a nice pedestal!”