Robert sprang forward with face transfigured. But to Barbara's chagrin he did not seem at all surprised.
"I am glad to see you, Robert!" she said, gravely, holding out her hand.
Robert bent over it and kissed it in silence, unable, for the moment, to find his voice.
"Are you not glad to see me—to see an old friend out of the old days?" asked Barbara.
"I have no words to tell you how glad I am, my dear lady!" he answered, in a low voice, wishing that Jerry Waite would have sense enough to go away, instead of standing there in that idiotic fashion with the punch.
"But aren't you surprised to see me, Robert?" Barbara went on, forgetful of Mr. Waite and the punch.
"I suppose I ought to be surprised, my lady," answered Robert, with some bitterness in his tone, "surprised that you have condescended to see me at all, in view of the length of time you have been here without letting me know! I learned yesterday of your coming—after every one in town apparently knew of it!"
To Jerry Waite the scene was utterly incomprehensible. Oblivious to all good manners, he was staring open-mouthed. Barbara saw the astonishment in his face, quite naturally misunderstood it, and flushed angrily. The pain and wrath which she had by such an effort of will crushed down in her heart crept up again stealthily, and began to mingle unrecognised with this superficial annoyance.
"I had thought to surprise you,—a harmless little play, Robert, to see if you would recognise an old, old friend grown up!" she said, in a cool voice. "But since you are so dissatisfied, we had better not talk about it. You may call and see me some day soon, if you like. I am just around the corner, on State Street. Uncle Bob will give you the address. Will you take me back to my seat, Mr. Waite? Thank you so much for the punch."
Robert could not believe his ears. Was he dismissed for the evening? The blood began to beat fiercely in his head.