"What in thunder do you want there?" he demanded shortly.
"I want to stop," she returned calmly.
"But I must get down town, at once," he protested. "I have already lost the best part of the afternoon."
"Your business seems to have become important very suddenly," she observed, sarcastically.
"I have something to do besides making calls with you," he retorted. "Go on, Henry."
Mrs. Taine spoke sharply; "Really, Jim, you are going too far. Henry, turn in at the house." The machine moved toward the curb and stopped. As she stepped from the car, she added, "I will only be a minute, Jim."
Rutlidge growled an inarticulate curse.
"What deviltry do you suppose she is up to now," rasped Mr. Taine.
Which brought from his daughter the usual protest,--"O, papa, don't,"
As Mrs. Taine approached the house, Sibyl Andrés--busy among the flowers that bordered the walk--heard the woman's step, and stood quietly waiting her. Mrs. Taine's face was perfect in its expression of cordial interest, with just enough--but not too much--of a conscious, well-bred superiority. The girl's countenance was lighted by an expression of childlike surprise and wonder. What had brought this well-known leader in the social world from Fairlands Heights to the poor, little house in the orange grove, so far down the hill?