“What was it—kept you, then?” She had seated herself and her hands, holding the dust-cloth, were crossed demurely in her lap.
George looked at them. “I stayed because I thought I ought to,” he said.
“I’d have gone.” She gave a little flit to the dust-cloth and folded it down.
He turned his eyes away. “Likely enough you would—” he said, “you’re a woman—”
“I don’t know what you mean by that!” She had got to her feet and was looking at him.
“I don’t know just what I mean myself,” said George. “But I guess I didn’t mean any harm—women are just different, you know.... I’ve got to go now—” he said, crossing his legs.
“You’ve got a nice boat,” said Celia. The teasing look had left her face.
“Do you think so?” He flushed a little and lifted his eyes to the window.
“Uncle William says she’s the best boat on the harbor,” said Celia.
“Well—I guess she is.... He’s got a good one, too—mine’s bigger,” said George.