“Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth argument, is it?”
This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I could not think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke again.
“Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine,” she said. “I am sure your—supper, was it?—must be waiting.”
“Miss Colton, you—you seem to resent my not accepting your invitation to visit your father. I assure you I—I should be very glad to call upon him.”
“Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine.”
“Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I don't know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my condescension.”
Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal, but I kept on.
“I don't understand what you mean by condescension,” I said.
“Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine.”
“Possibly. But I don't understand.”