Mrs. Parker telephoned to the Carey house as soon as she reached her room, but was told that her son, together with Miss Nancy, was enjoying a house-party at Beulah-land, the plantation of Mrs. Bob Lee Tenafee, and was not expected back for several days. She hung up the receiver with an expression of reprieve. “It will give me time,” she thought, compressing her earnest lips.
The next morning Glen Darrow received a letter on Bella Vista paper, written in a clear and forceful if rather old-fashioned hand.
My dear Miss Darrow,
I should like very much to call on you with reference to a matter of great interest to us both. As you are employed during the day I will, unless I hear to the contrary, come to your house at six-thirty to-morrow, Friday. Trusting that this will be convenient for you,
I remain,
Sincerely yours,
Eugenia Adams Parker.
Miss Ada’s observant eyes noted that Glen changed color as she read it. It had been a high-keyed fortnight for Miss Ada; she had not seen Peter Parker except at a distance, but she had heard him described with scorn and contumely by her young charge every morning at breakfast and every evening at supper, and she burned with indignation at the annoyance—the impertinence—which the young upstart continued to inflict upon Glen Darrow. She was almost goaded to the point of going to him, herself, and appealing to his better instincts (of whose existence she had grave doubts) and at other times she considering protesting to Mr. ’Gene Carey, whose chivalry would certainly extend to a young gentlewoman in his employ.
But Glen seemed entirely capable, it was to be admitted, of fighting her own battles with zest and something which closely resembled enjoyment. The bitterest thing about her encounters with her young employer was the fact that it was not until hours afterward that she thought of sufficiently caustic and biting replies....
The serious aspect of it all, which she did not reveal to Miss Ada, was that Luke Manders was blackly, murderously jealous. She tried earnestly to make him see the absurdity of his attitude, to convince him of the patent fact that the junior partner was merely by his farcical attitude of admiration, choosing the most perfect method of making himself objectional.
“I have eyes in my head,” the mountaineer reiterated. “I’m not a born fool. If you can’t see he’s crazy about you, I can. And he’s got everything in the world to offer you. I’ve got eyes to see that, too.”
“Luke! You know I wouldn’t—couldn’t—even if he——”