"Well met, old chap! Come along with us. We are going to make a call and would like to have you with us; we can promise that you shall have a pleasant time."
"I'd be glad if something pleasant would happen on this particular evening—confound it!" replied Harry in the gruff tone which some very young men, despite good breeding and association, sometimes indulge in. When they reached the Highwoods' house and started up the steps Harry shrank backward and said:
"Not there, thank you. Not this evening."
He started quickly away, but Jermyn, with Kate still clinging to his arm, soon overtook him, grasped his shoulder as a policeman might seize a prisoner, and said, kindly enough:
"My dear fellow, I've seen a score of clever youngsters through lovers' quarrels, and I'm going to see you through one this evening—now, or I'm going to break your neck. Which do you prefer?"
Harry answered nothing, although he acted like a surly criminal led by a jailor. Meanwhile Kate was grasping Jermyn's arm tightly and pressing close to his side. What had become of Trixy no one knew or thought, yet no sooner did they ring the bell than the child stood in the open doorway.
Kate hurried to Fenie's room, where she found the occupant bathed in tears. At any other time such a spectacle would have moved Kate to tenderness, but now she rudely shook the girl and asked:
"Tryphena Wardlow, were you ever in love with Jermyn?"
"No," replied the girl with a wondering blush. "That is——"