“We had—a few words; I noticed that she did seem a little angry,” he said.
“Poor Joan! She was always so terribly proud; it was her poverty that made her proud and sensitive, I think.”
He nodded. “I think so, too. Poverty inclines her to take an exaggerated view of everything, Marjorie. She took it badly.”
The girl slipped her hand through his arm. “Is—is there anything I can do? It is all my fault, Hugh. Shall I confess to aunt, and then go and see Joan, and—”
“Not on your life, you’ll spoil everything. I am out of favour with the old lady; she will take Tom into favour in my place. All will go well with you and Tom, and after all that is what I worked for. With regard to Miss Joan Meredyth—” He paused.
“Yes, Hugh, what about Joan? Oh, Hugh, now you have seen her, don’t you think she is wonderful?”
“I thought she had a very unpleasing temper,” he said.
“There isn’t a sweeter girl in the world,” Marjorie said.
“I didn’t notice any particular sweetness about her yesterday. She had reason, of course, to feel annoyed, but I think she made the most of it, however—” He paused.
“Yes, Hugh, what shall you do? I know you have something in your mind.”