Poor Verty drew back, and colored. Redbud change toward him!—no longer care for him! What could this frigid manner with which she met him, mean;—why this cool and distant bow, in reply to his enthusiastic greeting?
Poor Verty sat down disconsolately, gazing at Redbud. He could not understand. Then his glance questioned Miss Fanny, who sat with a prim and demure affectation of stateliness, on the opposite side of the room. There was no explanation here either.
While Verty was thus gazing silently, and with growing embarrassment, at the two young girls, Redbud, with a beating heart, and trembling lips, played with the tassel of the sofa-cushion, and studied the figure of the carpet.
Fanny came to the rescue of the expiring conversation, and seizing forcibly upon the topic of the weather, inserted that useful wedge into the rapidly closing crack, and waited for Verty to strike the first blow.
Unfortunately, Verty did not hear her; he was gazing at Redbud.
Fanny pouted, and tossed her head. So she was not good enough for the elegant Mr. Verty!—she was not even worth a reply! He might talk himself, then!
Verty did not embrace this tacit permission—he remained silent; and gazing on Redbud, whose color began slowly to rise, as with heaving bosom and down-cast eyes she felt the young man's look—he experienced more and more embarrassment—a sentiment which began to give way to distress.
At last he rose, and going to her side, took her hand.
Redbud slowly drew it away, still without meeting his gaze.
He asked, in a low voice, if she was angry with him.