“So am I,” said Florence, and added, explanatorily, “you know how ready my father is to make new acquaintances, without stopping to consider.”
That her apprehension was right, in this case, was shown three days later, when Edna, calling and finding her alone, saw a bunch of great red roses in a vase on the table.
“Oh, what beauties!” cried Edna.
“Mr. Bagley sent them,” replied Florence, quickly, with a helpless, perplexed air. “Father invited him to call.”
“H'm! Why didn't you send them back?”
“I thought of it, but I didn't want to make so much of the matter. And then there'd have been a scene with father. Of course, anybody may send flowers to anybody. I might throw them away, but I haven't the heart to treat flowers badly. They can't help it.”
“Does Mr. Bagley improve on acquaintance?”
“I never met such a combination of crudeness and self-assurance. Father says it's men of that sort that become millionaires. If it is, I can understand why American millionaires are looked down on in other countries.”
“It's not because of their millions, it's because of their manners,” said Edna. “But what would you expect of men who consider money-making the greatest thing in the world? I'm awfully sorry if you have to be afflicted with any more visits from Mr. Bagley.”
“I'll see him as rarely as I can. I should hate him for the injuries he did Murray, even if he were possible otherwise.”