“Now, Madge, don’t be foolish,” said Mr. Cullen, irritably. “You might just as well have the pleasure, and you’ll only disturb the game if you stay here.”
Miss Cullen leaned over and whispered something, and her father answered her. Lord Ralles must have heard, for he muttered something, which made Miss Cullen color up; but much good it did him, for she turned to me and said, “Since my father doesn’t disapprove, I will gladly accept your hospitality, Mr. Gordon,” and after a glance at Lord Ralles that had a challenging “I’ll do as I please” in it, she went to get her hat and coat. The whole incident had not taken ten seconds, yet it puzzled me beyond measure, even while my heart beat with an unreasonable hope; for my better sense told me that it simply meant that Lord Ralles disapproved, and Miss Cullen, like any girl of spirit, was giving him notice that he was not yet privileged to control her actions. Whatever the scene meant, his lordship did not like it, for he swore at his luck the moment Miss Cullen had left the room.
When Miss Cullen returned we went back to the rear platform of 97. I let down the traps, closed the gates, got a camp-stool for her to sit upon, with a cushion to lean back on, and a footstool, and fixed her as comfortably as I could, even getting a travelling-rug to cover her lap, for the plateau air was chilly. Then I hesitated a moment, for I had the feeling that she had not thoroughly approved of the thing and therefore she might not like to have me stay. Yet she was so charming in the moonlight, and the little balcony the platform made was such a tempting spot to linger on, while she was there, that it wasn’t easy to go. Finally I asked,—
“You are quite comfortable, Miss Cullen?”
“Sinfully so,” she laughed.
“Then perhaps you would like to be left to enjoy the moonlight and your meditations by yourself?” I questioned. I knew I ought to have just gone away, but I simply couldn’t when she looked so enticing.
“Do you want to go?” she asked.
“No!” I ejaculated, so forcibly that she gave a little startled jump in her chair. “That is—I mean,” I stuttered, embarrassed by my own vehemence, “I rather thought you might not want me to stay.”
“What made you think that?” she demanded.
I never was a good hand at inventing explanations, and after a moment’s seeking for some reason, I plumped out, “Because I feared you might not think it proper to use my car, and I suppose it’s my presence that made you think it.”