Then, after bidding Mr. Arnold good-by, she signified to Mr. Hubbard her readiness to go, and so passed out of the court-room with him, but with a frigid manner and haughty bearing which warned him that it might not be to his advantage to presume too much upon his office as guardian of this spirited young lady; that the employment of tact might be more effectual.
Upon reaching the carriage, Allison sprang in, before he could put forth a hand to assist her, and she did not even offer to take him along, and drop him at the bank on her way up-town.
She was inwardly boiling with rage and resentment toward him, because he had been instrumental in bringing Gerald into such trouble and disgrace, and she told herself that she should hate him for it as long as she lived.
He was secretly chafed by her attitude, and yet there was something of amusement and admiration, as well as of anger, in the look with which he regarded her, as he closed the door of the vehicle.
She was very pretty—“deucedly pretty,” as he mentally expressed it—with that spirited air, that defiant flash in her beautiful eyes, and the angry scarlet in her cheeks.
He had never seen her in such a mood before, but it only added to her charms, and he thought he rather liked it—unless it should become too emphatic—unless she should defy all curbing by “taking the bit in those dainty white teeth of hers.”
He bent forward through the open window and intercepted her glance with a smiling, indulgent look.
“I seem to have incurred your displeasure in some way, Miss Allison,” he remarked, in a friendly tone. “Don’t you think you are a trifle unjust to me? I am certainly ignorant of any wilful offense against you.”
“But you said you caused Gerald’s arrest,” Allison began, excitedly.
“And so I did,” he quietly interposed.