"Not pleasant to be in Mercer! What on earth do you mean?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you. It's her affair."
"Oh, I didn't mean to intrude," Elizabeth said coldly.
"Now, Elizabeth," he protested, "that isn't a nice thing to say."
"Do you think you've been saying nice things? I am perfectly certain that you would never hesitate to tell your mother any of my reasons for doing things!"
"Elizabeth, I wouldn't leave Mercer a minute before the first of April, if I wasn't sure it was best for Materna. You know that."
"Oh, go!" she said; "go, and have all the secrets you want. I don't care."
"Elizabeth, be reasonable; I—"
But she had left him; they had reached the Maitland house, and, pushing aside his outstretched hand, she opened the iron gate herself, slammed it viciously, and ran up the curving steps to the door. As she waited for Harris to answer her ring, she looked back: "I think you are reasonable enough for both of us; please don't let me ever interfere with your plans!" She paused a minute in the hall, listening for a following step;—it did not come. "Well, if he's cross he can stay outside!" she told herself, and burst into the parlor. "Nannie!" she began,—"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said. Blair was standing on the hearth-rug, talking vehemently to his sister; at the sound of the opening door he wheeled around and saw her, glowing, wounded, and amazingly handsome. "Elizabeth!" he said, staring at her. And he kept on staring while they shook hands. They were a handsome pair, the tall, dark, well-set-up man, and the girl almost as tall as he, with brown, gilt-flecked hair blowing about a vivid face which had the color, in the sharp February afternoon, of a blush-rose.
"Where's David?" Nannie said.