“Confound it, Penelope. Don’t be so infernally indifferent,” exclaimed the young man with exasperation.
She simply looked at him. Scorn and disdain was pictured on her expressive countenance now.
“I hope Mrs. Van Brunt is well?” he said awkwardly, hoping to bridge over Penelope’s anger.
“Quite well, thank you,” looking idly out the window.
“Is she at home?”
“No; she has just gone out with Mr. Schuyler,” Penelope replied, picking up a book and aimlessly turning the leaves.
“I hope I may be permitted to call and pay my respects to her?” he said, indifferently.
“Auntie will doubtless be pleased to see you,” was the reply, with a marked emphasis on the noun.
“How long are you going to keep up this nonsense, Penelope?”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently and pouted her lips, but made no reply.