“Pardon me, Miss Endicott,” Michael said sadly. “You do not understand my feeling, of course!”
“I certainly do not.” All Starr’s icicle sentences were inherited from her mother.
“And I cannot well explain,” he went on sadly. “I must ask you to take it on trust. The favor I have come to ask is this, that you will not have anything further to do with that young man until your father’s return. I know this may seem very strange to you, but believe me if you understood you would not hesitate to do what I have asked.”
Michael held her with his look and with his earnest tones. For a moment she could not speak from sheer astonishment at his audacity. Then she froze him with a look copied from her mother’s haughty manner.
“And what reason can you possibly give for such an extraordinary request?” she asked at last, when his look compelled an answer.
“I cannot give you a reason,” he said gravely. “You must trust me that this is best. Your father will explain to you when he comes.”
Another pause and then Starr haughtily asked:
“And you really think that I would grant such a ridiculous request which in itself implies a lack of trust in the character of one of my warmest friends?”
“I most earnestly hope that you will,” answered Michael.
In spite of her hauteur she could not but be impressed by Michael’s manner. His grave tones and serious eyes told hear heart that here was something out of the ordinary, at least she gave Michael credit for thinking there was.