“Oh, Miss Gibson,” said Carrie, with a sweetness of expression that astonished me, considering the real state of her feelings, “do please play again. Rollo and I must go very shortly, and we should so love to hear you. Won’t you, dear?”
“We cannot possibly leave without,” implored Mrs. Chatterton.
Nothing was possible but compliance, and Miss Gibson took her seat near the piano.
Mrs. Loring and Caroline mounted determined guard over me, one on each side, but didn’t speak. It was not until we were on the way home that the storm broke.
“Rollo Butterfield,” said Mrs. Loring icily, “I’m deeply surprised at you.”
“And why, my dear Mrs. Loring?” I asked blandly.
“Did you propose to that—that Gibson girl?”
“Proposal, Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “is an excitement that would be of more general indulgence but for the risk of acceptance. It is a valuable sensation, and I greatly regret its attendant danger.”
“You have no more perception than a child. Don’t you know that those people are doing all they can to catch you? I never saw anything so shameless.”
She had asked for it, and she should have it.