"You'll stay all right," Elizabeth replied, echoing her aunt's tone. "Why shouldn't you?"
"Don't you want me to stay?" Arthur asked.
"Might teach you to play croquet in time," she replied pertly.
"Is that all?" he inquired. He felt as if he were at last getting past that barrier she had set up against him.
She met his eyes frankly and pursed her undoubtedly pretty mouth. "Oh, wait and see," she said.
"I can see now, and I don't want to wait," Arthur returned boldly.
Her smile was not one of encouragement. She had suddenly ceased to flirt with him. "Even puppies don't get their eyes open for nine days," she said coldly, "and you haven't been here four yet. You haven't the least idea what you're talking about."
Arthur frowned impatiently. He was not vexed by the snub he had received—girls of Elizabeth's type thought it "smart" to be rude—but by the reintroduction of that suggestion of a family secret which separated the Kenyons from the outside world. There was an air of arrogance about the thing that annoyed him.
"Is there so much for me to learn here?" he asked dryly.
Elizabeth told him to "shut up."