“Why, yes,” he said slowly, “I came all the way from Boston to see you and talk to you, Gertie. There is no reason why I shouldn't say—whatever there is to say, I suppose.”
Gertrude looked at him. The tone in which this speech was delivered, and the speech itself—the first part of it, especially—amazed and hurt her. Incidentally, her temper having been sorely tried already that evening by Mr. Hungerford, it made her angry.
“All the way from Boston,” she repeated. “Well, I never knew you to complain in that way before. I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”
“It wasn't a trouble, Gertie. You know I would go around the world for you.”
“Then why speak of coming all the way from Boston? Whose fault was it, pray? Did I ask you to come?”
And now, John, who had been fighting his own temper for some time, grew angry.
“You did not,” he declared. “But I judge it was time I did.”
“Indeed! Indeed! Why?”
“Well—well, for various reasons. Of course, had I known my coming would interfere with your—your precious Chapter affairs and—”
“John, I had to go to that meeting. If you had written you were coming I shouldn't have gone. I should have made other arrangements. But you didn't write.”