Whereupon Miss Brewster haughtily passed her guardian, and proceeded on her way, attended by her lover, who, although he bowed coldly to the man, found it difficult to restrain his anger at his insolence.
“But, Allison——” authoritatively began John Hubbard, looking back after the graceful, but proudly erect figure of his ward.
He might as well have addressed the paving-stones, for the independent little lady paid not the slightest heed to him.
“Gerald, I could almost strangle him for being so rude to you,” she remarked, when they were beyond hearing of the man.
“Never mind me, dear,” he replied, smiling, but regarding her with an admiring look. “I believe it would be worth while being snubbed occasionally for the sake of seeing you look so pretty in your righteous indignation over it.”
“He has been very good to me of late, and I had begun to like them—almost,” Allison explained; “but I believe this has made him more hateful to me than ever. However,” tossing her shining head defiantly, “I am not going to let it spoil our little visit together.”
They had their lunch, and a quietly jolly time over it, and then Allison insisted that Gerald himself should take her to see the painting of which Mr. Hubbard had spoken. They passed a couple of hours thus very pleasant, and then reluctantly separated.
But they decided that, in future, they would have to be more wary about their meetings; and, as Gerald was very busy, it was doubtful about their seeing much of each other before Allison went to Newport, and now the fair girl began to chafe sorely over the fact that her fate was so closely allied with the man who was so obnoxious to her.
When she reached home on this afternoon, she found John Hubbard there before her, and wearing a very injured air.
But she paid very little attention to him until, galled by her coolness toward him, he opened fire upon her.