When the luncheon was over, Sylvia made her way to Harriet Atkinson and caught her by the arm. “Harriet!” she exclaimed. “You must help me!”
“What?” whispered the other.
“I can’t see him!”
“But why not?”
“He wants to lecture me, and I won’t stand it! I’m going into the garden—take him somewhere else—you must!” Then, seeing Frank making toward her, she gave Harriet a vicious pinch, and fled from the room. There was a summer-house in the garden at the far end, and thither she went upon flying feet.
I was never sure how it happened—whether, as Harriet always vowed, she tried to hold Frank and could not, or whether she turned traitor to her friend. At any rate Sylvia had been there not more than a minute, and had scarcely begun to get control of herself, when she heard a step, and looking up, saw Frank Shirley coming down the path.
There was but one door to the summer-house—and he soon occupied that. “Go away!” she cried. “Go away!” (That was all that was left of her savoir faire!)
He stopped. “Miss Castleman,” he said—and his voice was hard, “I came here to see you. But now I’m sorry I came.”
The garrison rallied as to a trumpet-call. “That is too bad, Mr. Shirley,” she said, with appalling hauteur. “But you know you do not have to stay an instant.”
He gazed at her in doubt for a moment. Her heart was pounding and the color flooding her face. “I don’t believe you know what you are doing!” he exclaimed.