At half past five, when the place was jamed, I happened to look up. Carter Brooks was in the hall, and behind him was H. He had seen me before I saw him, and he had a sort of sickley grin, meant to denote joy. I was talking to our Bishop at the time, and he was asking me what sort of services we had in the school chapel.
I meant to say “non-sectarian,” but in my surprize and horror I regret to say that I said, “vegetarian.” Carter Brooks came over to me like a cat to a saucer of milk, and pulled me off into a corner.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I ’phoned mama, and she said to bring him. He’s known as Grosvenor here, of course. They’ll never suspect a thing. Now, do I get a small ‘thank you’?”
“I won’t see him.”
“Now look here, Bab,” he protested, “you two have got to make this thing up. You are a pair of Idiots, quarreling over nothing. Poor old Hal is all broken up. He’s sensative. You’ve got to remember how sensative he is.”
“Go away,” I cried, in broken tones. “Go away, and take him with you.”
“Not until he had spoken to your Father,” he observed, setting his jaw. “He’s here for that, and you know it. You can’t play fast and loose with a man, you know.”
“Don’t you dare to let him speak to father!”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s between you to, of course,” he said. “It’s not up to me. Tell him yourself, if you’ve changed your mind. I don’t intend,” he went on, impressively, “to have any share in ruining his life.”