“But, Arnold, I didn’t go wild-goose chasing. I went to the station to surprise you.”
His anger grew.
“To surprise me! Then let me know next time you want to surprise me. I’ve had enough surprise to last me all the rest of my life.”
He broke off with a shudder as if the thought were too much for him.
“Well, you just missed it, not being with us to-night. You’ll never have such another chance, never. The Atterburys won’t be back for five years.”
“And did you enjoy it without me!”
“Enjoy it! Of course I enjoyed it. I’d have been a fool not to. I had a glorious time, the best dinner I ever ate, and Atterbury?—What on earth you wanted to spoil it all for I can’t see. Take care!”—his arm went around her closely. “You’ll turn your ankle.” His touch was ineffably gentle and sure, in spite of the masterful rage of his tone.
“Oh, Arnold, I’ve been so unhappy all the evening. I——”
He went on, remorseless. “I’m glad you were. I hope you were unhappy. It will teach you never to do such a thing again. When you didn’t meet us at the ferry, I was confounded. I couldn’t think what had happened to you. If everything hadn’t been ordered ahead, tickets and all, I’d have come straight home, but I couldn’t leave the Atterburys in the lurch when you had, though I hated to go without you. It just spoiled the whole thing. I’ve been worrying ever since that infernal hold-up in the elevated, thinking of you at home alone, and then I find you gallivanting around at the junction at three o’clock in the morning, after coming out in that outrageous car. If I’d known you were there——! Well, you were just crazy to do such a thing”—he set his teeth—“it makes me wild to think of it. You don’t know what might have happened. I’ll be afraid to go off and leave you home alone. I don’t know what you’ll do. You ought to be looked after like a child. You oughtn’t to be left a minute. What’s the matter?”