Mr. Payson returned to the library sullenly.
"That palmist of yours had the impertinence to come here and ask for you," he informed Clytie, "but I sent him about his business, and I expect he won't be back in a hurry."
Clytie looked up with a white face. "Mr. Granthope, father?" She rose proudly and faced him. "Do you mean to say that you were rude enough to turn him away? It's impossible!"
Mr. Payson walked up and down the room in a dudgeon.
"I certainly did send him away, and what's more, I told him not to come back."
Clytie, without another word, ran out into the hall. The front door was flung open and her footsteps could be heard on the gravel walk. Mr. Payson seated himself sulkily.
In five minutes more she had returned, slowly, her hair blown into a fine disorder, the color flaming in her cheeks, her eyes quickened.
"What in the world have you been doing?" her father demanded.
"I wanted to apologize for your rudeness," she answered, "but I was too late."
CHAPTER X