They were not to go to Newport until the middle of July, as Mr. Hubbard had been so busy he had been unable to attend to the opening of the cottage; but he managed to make his own home so pleasant, and Allison so heartily welcome, while she found Mrs. Hubbard such a dear old lady, she was wholly content to remain with them.
He did not once refer to his previous proposal of marriage; he continued her the same liberal allowance which her father had made her, and gratified her every wish, making himself so agreeable and entertaining that all would probably have gone well but for an incident that occurred during the second week after her return.
Gerald returned about that time, and, feeling that Mr. Hubbard would not favor his calling upon her, she arranged to meet him at a certain point on Broadway, one day, when they were to go to Delmonico’s for lunch, and to talk over their experiences of the last half-year.
They had hardly met and greeted each other when, they were suddenly confronted by John Hubbard.
“Well, Allison, whither are you bound?” he inquired, stepping directly in her path, but without deigning Gerald even a glance of recognition.
The young girl paused aghast and flushed with mingled embarrassment and astonishment.
Then, recovering herself, her beautiful eyes began to blaze with indignation at the slight in her companion.
“Mr. Hubbard,” she said, glancing from him to Gerald, “do you not recognize Mr. Winchester?”
“I have no acquaintance with Mr. Winchester,” the man frigidly, but very unwisely, responded. “I was, however, just on my way home to get you to go with me to see that new painting at the Academy of Design.”
“I thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” Allison retorted, just as icily, “but I was on my way to lunch at Delmonico’s with Mr. Winchester. Come, Gerald.”