“I will send for some to Boston to-morrow,” cried Horace, eagerly.
Rose regarded him with amazement. “Why, Mr. Allen, you just said you did not approve of candy at all, and here you are proposing to send for some for me,” she said, “when I have this nice home-made candy, a great deal purer, because one knows exactly what is in it, and you say I must not eat this.”
Rose took up a sugared almond daintily and put it to her lips, but Horace was too quick for her. Before she knew what he was about he had dashed it from her hand, and in the tumult the whole box of candy was scattered. Horace trampled on it, it was impossible to say whether purposely or accidentally, in the struggle.
Both Rose and Sylvia regarded him with amazement, mixed with indignation.
“Why, Mr. Allen!” said Rose. Then she added, haughtily: “Mr. Allen, you take altogether too much upon yourself. You have spoiled my candy, and you forget that you have not the least right to dictate to me what I shall or shall not eat.”
Sylvia also turned upon Horace. “Home-made candy wouldn't hurt her,” she said. “Why, Mr. Allen, what do you mean?”
“Nothing. I am very sorry,” said Horace. Then he walked away without another word, and entered the house. The girl and the woman stood looking at each other.
“What did he do such a thing for?” asked Rose.
“Goodness knows,” said Sylvia.
Rose was quite pale. She began to look alarmed. “You don't suppose he's taken suddenly insane or anything?” said she.