“I have an engagement to-night, thanks.”
Potter’s florid complexion turned a warmer tint and he averted his gaze so that Rodgers might not detect the sudden rage which his eyes betrayed.
“Sorry; but you’ll come some other time, perhaps,” he mumbled. “Nina’s greatly interested in hearing of all that you have done for Kitty.”
“I—done for her?” Rodgers turned and eyed his companion sharply. Potter had perched himself on the end of the lounge with the evident intention of remaining, and was leisurely rolling a cigarette.
“Sure—you have accomplished a great deal for Kitty,” Potter affirmed with emphasis. “You found the will which gave her a fortune. To put it poetically, the beggar maid is now an heiress and a prey to fortune hunters.”
Rodgers’ eyes blazed. “Your remarks are offensive,” he exclaimed.
Potter straightened up. “Are you trying to fasten a quarrel on me?” he demanded hotly.
“I intend to make you speak more respectfully of Miss Baird,” retorted Rodgers, his anger at white heat. “If that means a fight—well, I’m ready,” and he tossed the red coat on the nearest chair to have his hands free.
Potter’s big frame relaxed against the cushioned back of the lounge as he forced a laugh. “You are too damned quick to take offense,” he protested. “Why, Kitty’s my cousin. I’d be the first to take her part.”
“And yet you insinuate—”