“But why can’t you just go, if you want to? I’m sure no one will detain you.” Haughtily.
“Can’t explain, only it’s impossible. Like Prometheus bound to the rock for vultures to peck at, unless—”
“How intelligible! And what a happy simile—under the circumstances!” with far-reaching scorn. “What if I should tell my aunt that her guest compared himself to—?”
“That’s the idea!” returned Bob enthusiastically. “Tell her that! Then, by jove, she would—Promise me! Please!”
“Of course,” said the girl slowly, “my diagnosis must be wrong.” Or perhaps she meant that she had lost faith in that glitter-theory.
“If you only could understand!” burst from Bob explosively. It was nature calling out, protesting against such a weight of anguish.
But Miss Gerald did not respond. A statue could not have appeared more unaffected and unsympathetic. She had half turned as if to go; then she changed her mind and lingered. It annoyed her to feel she had been baffled, for she was a young woman who liked to drive right to the heart of things. Her father had been called a “czar” in his world, and she had inherited, with other of his traits, certain imperious qualities. So for a moment or two she stood thinking.
An automobile from the village went by them and proceeded to the house. It contained Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence returning from the telegraph office, but Bob hardly saw it, or was aware who were its occupants. Miss Gerald absorbed him to the exclusion of all else now. He had no mind for other storms that might be gathering. Suddenly the girl turned on him with abrupt swiftness.
CHAPTER VIII—NEW COMPLICATIONS
“Is your father’s embarrassment serious?” she asked.