His announcement, however, while it had the effect of inducing Vera to remain where she was, proved a mere figure of speech, as he did not move from his place by the rock. At the end of a long silence Vera could not restrain her impatience, and he caught the antagonism she strove but faintly to conceal.
“Miss Deane”—Thorne skirted the rock and came closer to her—“I am afraid you harbor resentment against me. I assure you that I had no hand in the trick played on you by Detective Mitchell yesterday.”
“Your presence with the detective in the spare bedroom leads me to think otherwise,” she replied coldly.
“I can explain,” he began, but her raised hand stayed him.
“Why attempt an explanation, doctor?” she asked, and her disdain showed so plainly that he colored with indignation.
“Because I desire to set myself right in your eyes,” he answered.
“With what object?”
His eyes did not fall before the challenge in hers, while a warm, sunny smile lightened the severe lines of his stubborn chin and determined mouth.
“Object—matrimony,” he retorted, and she detected the twinkle in his eyes and the faint mockery discernible in his voice. Her resolve was instantly taken; she would meet him on the ground he had chosen—woman’s wit against man’s intelligence was a game old when Methuselah was young. She rose and dropped Thorne a half courtesy, balancing herself on the rock with graceful ease.
“On so short an acquaintance your jest is flattering, but ill-timed.” She paused, then added, “I thank you—and decline.”