"Did you have a pleasant call?"
Gaston was unreasonably annoyed, but he was curious also.
Joyce dropped her eyes. In a subtle way Gaston felt a change in her. She was never anything but direct and truthful with him, her attitude was now, therefore, more significant. He had beaten his life, his personal life, into a monotonous round outlined on that first night when Joyce had been thrust into his care. He had grown to think that emotions were dead and done with; this sudden realization that the first touch from the outer world could disturb his calm, irritated him beyond measure.
"Mr. Drew was very—kind," Joyce's voice fell dully upon Gaston's impatience; "he's coming—to see us!"
"The devil he is!" The outburst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed, and his gloom passed.
By persistent practice he had felled every circumstance to a dead level—he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things would assume the old placidity.
"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be welcome."
She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell.
Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to think, lately, the victory was assured. So confident was he of himself, that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held no danger for him—and her!
He sometimes wondered, if she were placed in different environment, surrounded by luxuries and admiration, how she would appear; and how she would affect him. In a way he had educated her and refined her. He had grown used to her and taken her for granted, but there were moments when she perplexed him.