Vona presented him, recovering her composure by the aid of Frank's steadiness.
“How-de-do!” said Mr. Harnden, stiffly. He did not ask the caller to be seated. Vona gave the invitation. While Vaniman hesitated, the master of the household had a word to say, putting on his best business air. “Ordinarily, young man, the latchstring of my home is out and the boys and the girls are welcome here to make merry in a sociable way.” Mr. Harnden was distinctly patronizing, with an air that put Frank into the intruding-urchin class. “But it so happens that this evening Banker Britt has seized the opportunity of my being in town and he and I are in close conference regarding an important matter in the investment line. You'll excuse us, I'm sure.”
It was certainly no moment to go tilting in the field of Love, and Frank, though undaunted, was deferential; and he was compelled to recognize the father's rights as master of the household. He bowed and turned to leave, carefully keeping his eyes off Britt.
But Vona had her word to say then; her foot was on the hearth of home; she had that advantage over Frank. Moreover, she was moved by the instinct of self-protection; she did not relish the notion of being left alone with that trio.
“We can kindle a fire in the front room, father!”
“There hasn't been a fire in that room all winter, dear girl.” Mrs. Harnden's protest was sweetly firm. “No one shall run the chance of catching a cold.”
“Exactly! It's tricky weather, and we must be careful of our guests,” agreed Mr. Harnden. “Call again, young sir!”
“I will,” stated Vaniman. He turned and addressed Vona. “The little matter will take no harm if it's postponed till to-morrow,” he told her. His gaze was tender—and the girl looked up at him with an expression which even a careless observer would have found telltale. Britt's vision was sharpened by such jealous venom that he would have misconstrued even innocent familiarity. He had been struggling with his passion ever since Vaniman had appeared, escorting the girl in from the night where the two had been alone together. Age's ugly resentment at being supplanted by youth was sufficiently provocative in this case where Britt ardently longed, and had promised himself what he desired; but to that provocation was added the stinging memory of the blow dealt that day by Youth's hand across Age's withered mouth; he licked the swollen lips with a rabid tongue. He beheld the two young folks exchanging looks that gave to their simple words an import which roused all his fury. Britt shook himself free from all restraint. He had been assured by the Harndens that their home was his haven; he took advantage of that assurance and of the young man's more dubious standing in the household.
Britt was holding to the paper-covered novel—it was doubled in his ireful grip and its title showed plainly above his ridged hand—a particularly infelicitous title it seemed to be under the circumstances, because Britt was shaking the book like a cudgel and his demeanor was that of a man who was clutching thorns instead of flowers. He advanced on Frank and his voice made harsh clamor in the little room. “You'd better not take on any more engagements for to-morrow, Vaniman. You'll be mighty busy with me, winding up our business together.”
“Very well, sir. And suppose we leave off all matters between us until then!”