Miss Editha tossed her pretty head somewhat defiantly and impatiently at this curtain lecture, but a vivid scarlet burned upon her cheeks, showing that she felt its stinging force, notwithstanding.
Mr. Dalton continued, with increasing sarcasm:
“You and the young culprit formed the center of attraction during your tender little episode, and I doubt not, almost everybody thought you were taking a heart-broken leave of your lover, instead of a poor protege—a mere nobody—whom your philanthropic uncle had picked up.”
Editha had started violently as Mr. Dalton spoke of Earle as her “lover,” and the burning blood rushed in a flood to her brow, over her neck, arms, and hands, and tingled to the very tips of her toes.
Could it be possible that she had behaved in so unmaidenly a manner, and given the gaping multitude such an impression?
Earle Wayne her lover!
She had never had such a thought before; but a strange thrill shot through her heart now, bowing the defiant, sunny-haired head, and making the sweet blue eyes droop half guiltily.
But she quickly rallied, and, tossing back the waves of hair from her flushed face, she bravely returned to the combat.
“Well, and if he were—if—he were—what you have said of him, papa, I should still be proud of him, and—I’d be true to him, too. I’d marry him—yes, I would—just as soon as ever he got through with those hateful three years;” and she enforced her words with an emphatic tap of her small boot.
Mr. Dalton leaned back in the carriage and laughed heartily at this spirited outburst.