George bit his lip; the old man had no business to misuse other people's pronouns in that way. Cornelia's "you" might have meant one person—if it meant more than one still it might have meant them separately; but Brainard's perverting "they" bracketed him and his companion in a fashion utterly unwarranted.
Brainard lingered a few moments above their heads. He made one or two clumsy attempts at facetiousness, and George surmised that this was his way of showing a friendliness. But his joking was much more painful than any hectoring could have been, and George was greatly relieved when he presently rose and retired unceremoniously into the house.
[XV]
After Brainard's withdrawal Abbie and Ogden sat for some time in silence. The moon sank; the clatter of hoofs on the asphalt sounded less frequently; some of the neighbors over the way had pulled in their rugs, and were now seen, by new-lighted gas-jets, at upper windows pulling down their shades. The breeze freshened; it rustled the lilacs and syringas in the side yard, and it swayed the stringy mass of wild cucumbers that had taken it upon themselves to hide the red hideousness of the barn.
Suddenly Ogden spoke.
"There! I knew I should forget it, and I have. I laid it on my bureau the last thing, too!"
"What?"
"Why—'A False Start.' You haven't wanted it, have you?"
"No; keep it if you like. I've read it."