“Monty” continued to sputter. Gertrude was all excitement.
“Oh, how interesting!” she said. “Do tell us about her, Mr. Holway. Do I know her?”
“Know her!” Mr. Holway's indignation was intense. “I—I don't know her myself. He's just guying, Miss Dott. He—he thinks because he—he is so confoundedly fascinating, and has so many—so many—
“Oh, that reminds me, Tacks,” turning upon the smiling Hungerford, “I saw a friend of yours yesterday. She looked quite desolate, quite broken-hearted, my word she did. You were a little cruel there, weren't you, my boy? Just a bit cruel. Everyone expected—”
He did not finish the sentence, but his expression indicated that much was expected. It was Cousin Percy's turn to color.
“Don't be an idiot, Monty,” he snapped. “That is, more of an idiot than you can help. Don't mind him, Gertrude; he has an amazing idea of repartee, that's all.”
Serena volunteered a remark concerning the weather just then. She observed that it might be raining, it had looked that way before dinner. Mr. Holway possibly considered that a hint was involved; at any rate, he rose and announced that he must be going. Gertrude begged him not to hurry, they had all enjoyed his call so much, she said. Cousin Percy suddenly declared that he would accompany his friend on his way, a walk would do him good. Monty expressed no enthusiasm at the prospect of company, but the pair left the house together.
After they had gone, Daniel turned to his wife.
“Humph!” he observed, “what sort of talk do you call that? I thought those two were chums; and yet I didn't know but they was goin' to fight one spell. It's a good thing you hove in that about the rain when you did, Serena.”
Serena was grave. “Gertie,” she inquired, “did you ask that young man to call here?”