“Of course I’m not jealous,” he declared. “Don’t be foolish, Esther.... And don’t laugh either. There is nothing to laugh about.”
She tried her best to obey, but the laugh still lingered at the corner of her lips. She leaned forward to take his hand.
“Bob!” she said, reproachful. He drew his hand away.
“I don’t like his being with you,” he insisted. “I don’t like it at all. He ought not to be here.”
“But I can’t help his being here, can I? He is uncle’s visitor, not mine. And his father was one of uncle’s best friends years ago. And so, when old Mr. Covell wrote—”
“Oh, never mind! I don’t care how he got here. He isn’t the sort of fellow you ought to be with. And I don’t want you to take part in that ‘Pinafore’ play with him.”
“But I must take part. I have promised that I would. Bob, don’t be so unreasonable.... Why do you say that he isn’t the sort of fellow I should be with? What makes you say that?”
“Because it is the truth. He is a—well, he is—oh, he isn’t your kind, that’s all.”
“What does that mean? What is my kind?”
“You know well enough. He is— Oh, I won’t talk about him behind his back!”