“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s just a supposition. I know Mr. Dixon must annoy you a good deal with his teasing. So you can’t very well like him.”
“Let us suppose it another way,” Tom smiled back into her eyes. “Perhaps he doesn’t like me, and that’s why he is sometimes—well, perhaps a little bit sarcastic.”
“I don’t see how he can help liking you,” returned Ida Silsbee, frankly.
“Why?”
“Well, you’re all that’s manly, Captain Halstead.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, I mean it,” pursued the girl, earnestly. “And I’m so much older than you that I know you won’t mind my saying it. What I am trying to arrive at is that I don’t want you to get any idea that Mr. Dixon reflects the sentiment of the rest of the party.”
“I haven’t formed that impression, Miss Silsbee. You all have treated me splendidly—even after that miserable affair of the other morning.”