"Yes, you will come for your own convenience, not your mother's pleasure. See here, Fred! You once asked me if you were like your father,"—involuntarily she raised her hand, as if to fend off a blow—"I had great respect for Mr. Payton in many ways, but he had the selfishness of power. So have you. Whew!" he ended, rising, "I believe it's a hundred in the shade!"
Fred was silent.
"I am coming out to Lakeville in a day or two. Got my new car yesterday, and I am burning to display it."
Still she was silent. A watering-cart lumbered by and some children squealed in a sudden cold splash.
"Until now," he said, "I have believed that you were a good sport."
"And now you think I'm not?"
"You don't seem to know what the word Duty means;—which is another way of saying that you don't play the game."
"If the game is to make things pleasant for Mortimore, and put picture puzzles together, I don't care to play it," she said, cockily. She followed him to the front door and stood there as he went down the steps. But when he reached the gate she darted after him and clapped a frank hand on his shoulder. "You're a dead game sport! I don't know any other man who'd have biffed me right in the face like that."
"I skinned my own knuckles," he admitted, with a droll gesture of rubbing a bruised hand. "Still, I don't mind, if it does you good."
"Cheer up! Maybe it will," she said, and, laughing, threw a kiss to him and vanished into the house. He laughed, too—then frowned. "She wouldn't have kissed her hand to Maitland. I don't count," he thought. As he walked off, hugging the shady side of the street, he added, "I am a fool!"