His manner irritated Zelda. She had never seen him discourteous to any one before, and his refusal to take Captain Pollock’s hand was uncalled for; and it was not to be excused on the ground of her uncle’s age, for he was in full possession of his faculties. She did not know whether he was trying to hint to her that whisky was not to be passed to a young man who called on her, or whether he had wished merely to suggest to Captain Pollock the fact that Morris Leighton was on intimate terms in the household. The maid came and carried the decanter into the house.
“You may be sure that your precious fluid will not be disturbed,” said Zelda, coldly.
“There ought to be a car in fifteen minutes, so I’ll go as I came.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said Pollock, rising, “I should be delighted if you would ride my horse in. I should like to know what you think of him; and I’ll call for him to-morrow.”
“Thank you, but it’s too hot to ride. I much prefer the car, sir,” replied Rodney, stiffly, without looking at the young man.
The situation was not comfortable. Pollock flushed slightly and the young women tried to hide their surprise under a cheery farewell to their uncle. Zelda hesitated a moment, then ran down the steps and walked with him along the winding road and out of sight of the veranda.
“I suppose I’ll miss the car,” observed Merriam, irascibly.
“You ought to miss it! Why did you treat Captain Pollock so shabbily?”
“I don’t like him,” replied Merriam, grimly. “I warned you last winter not to have anything to do with him. You must drop him. Do you understand?”
“I certainly do not. I’m sorry you don’t like him; I like him—better than anybody.”