“Nonsense!” Sarah looked uncomprehending, doubting his protest. Then, she moved toward the telephone.
“Mother,” said Quincy from his position near the door, “I don’t want your automobile. Do you hear? If you call for it, I’ll not take it. I’ll not take it, even if it should come this very minute.”
“You’re a very ungracious boy,” she said slowly.
His face turned pale, with a white fire.
“Oh, am I?—Very well, then—.” He grasped his suit-case. Thrusting his hat low over his eyes, he dashed away.
Adelaide returned to the head of the stairs. A cozy rough wool coat was close against her body; a brown cloth hat clustered with strawberries was atilt over her wavy hair. She saw her mother standing alone near the open door.
“Has he gone?” she said.
Sarah sighed. “The usual Quincy—”
And as she went on, Adelaide descended. “I offered him the car and he flew into a passion—into a passion, and out of the house. Oh! Oh!”