"My advice is friendly—"
"I never follow advice. We're enemies. It is written."
I shrugged. Impolite I may have been, but there was no use mincing matters. My preposterous embassy had failed. As we neared the house she left me on the lawn and turned to where Jerry and the others were moving toward the tennis courts.
"You'll find Miss Gore upon the veranda," she smiled over her shoulder with careless gayety. She was extraordinary. But I'm sure that never before had I hated the girl as at that moment. Thoughtfully I made my way to the veranda and Miss Gore.
"Well," she said cheerfully as I sank into a chair, "you are friends again?"
"No."
"It's really too bad. I think you take life too seriously, Mr. Canby."
"Perhaps." I remained silent. She worked at her embroidery frame for a moment as though to attune herself to my mood and then:
"Briar Hills can't hope for a visit which hasn't an ulterior purpose. What is it?"
As usual she wasted no words and smiled benignly, a comfortable motherly smile at once quizzical and forgiving.