"Where have you two been all this time," Penton asked, a slight touch of querulousness in his voice.
"Oh, Johnnie and I have been out for a walk, too!" replied Hildreth in an even voice.
At lunch, the next day,—a day when Penton was called in to Philadelphia on business—while Darrie, Ruth, Hildreth and I sat talking together peacefully about our outdoor board, Hildreth suddenly threw a third of a glass of milk on Darrie's shirt-waist front.
We were astounded.
"Why, Hildreth, what does this mean?" I asked.
"I won't stop to explain," she said, "but from now on I won't stay in the same house with her ... I'm going to move this afternoon, down to Penton's house" (meaning the little cottage but a few steps from my tent).... Ruth rose to intercede ... "Don't Ruth, don't! I want to be let alone." And Hildreth hurried away.
"What in the world could be the matter with Hildreth?" I asked of Ruth. Darrie had also departed, to the big house, to rub her blouse quickly, so that no stain would remain.
"Hildreth's capricious," answered Ruth, "but the plain explanation is downright jealousy."
"Jealousy?"