“The Lord only knows,” said Jack.
“But, man, look at her!” exclaimed the old lady.
“I have been, all day long,” replied Jack with a gallant attempt at gaiety.
“Oh, Mrs. McNish,” cried the girl, rippling with joyous laughter, “he won't even look at me. He just—what do you say—glowers, that's it—glowers at me. And we have had such a wonderful day. Come, Jack, get yourself ready for supper. You have only a few minutes.”
She caught her arm through his and laughing shamelessly into his eyes, drew him away.
“I say, Adrien,” said Jack, driven finally to desperation and drawing her into the quiet of the library, “I am awfully glad you are so happy and all that, but I don't see the necessity of rubbing it into a fellow. You know how I feel. I am glad for you and—I am glad for Rupert. Or, at least I told him so.”
“But, Jack,” said the girl, her eyes burning with a deep inner glow, “Rupert has nothing to do with it. Rupert, indeed,” and she laughed scornfully. “Oh, Jack, why can't you see?”
“See what?” he said crossly.
“Jack,” she said softly, turning toward him and standing very near him, “you remember the note you sent me?”
“Note?”