“It's in your honor,” Miller laughed, as, to Alan' s vast astonishment, he held on to her hand longer than seemed right. “We ought to have had the brass band out.”
“Oh, I'm so glad to get home,” said Adele, laying her hand on Miller's extended arm. Then she released it to give Alan her trunk-checks. “Get them, brother,” she said. “Mr. Miller will take care of me. I suppose you are not going to drive home to-night.”
“Not if you are tired,” said Miller, in a tone Alan had never heard his friend use to any woman, nor had he ever seen such an expression on Miller's face as lay there while the lawyer's eyes were feasting themselves on the girl's beauty.
Alan hurried away after the trunks and a porter. He was almost blind with a rage that was new to him. Was Miller deliberately beginning a flirtation with Adele at a moment's notice? And had she been so spoiled by the “fast set” of Atlanta during her stay there that she would allow it—even if Miller was a friend of the family? He found a negro porter near the heap of luggage that had been hurled from the baggage-car, and ordered his sister's trunks taken to the hotel. Then he followed the couple moodily up to the hotel parlor. He was destined to undergo another shock, for, on entering that room, he surprised Miller and Adele on a sofa behind the big square piano with their heads suspiciously near together, and so deeply were they engaged in conversation that, although he drew up a chair near them, they paid no heed to him further than to recognize his appearance with a lifting of their eyes. They were talking of social affairs in Atlanta and people whose names were unfamiliar to Alan. He rose and stood before the fireplace, but they did not notice his change of position. Truly it was maddening. He told himself that Adele's pretty face and far too easy manner had attracted Miller's attention temporarily, and the fellow was daring to enter one of his flirtations right before his eyes. Alan would give him a piece of his mind at the first opportunity, even if he was under obligations to him. Indeed, Miller had greatly disappointed him, and so had Adele. He had always thought she, like Dolly Barclay, was different from other girls; but no, she was like them all. Miller's attention had simply turned her head. Well, as soon as he had a chance he would tell her a few things about Miller and his views of women. That would put her on her guard, but it would not draw out the poisoned sting left by Miller's presumption, or indelicacy, or whatever it was. Alan rose and stood at the fire unnoticed for several minutes, and then he showed that he was at least a good chaperon, for he reached out and drew on the old-fashioned bell-pull in the chimney-corner. The porter appeared, and Alan asked: “Is my sister's room ready?”
“Yes, it's good and warm now, suh,” said the negro. “I started the fire an hour ago.”
Miller and Adele had paused to listen.
“Oh, you are going to hurry me off to bed,” the girl said, with an audible sigh.
“You must be tired after that ride,” said Alan, coldly.
“That's a fact, you must be,” echoed Miller. “Well, if you have to go, you can finish telling me in the morning. You know I'm going to spend the night here, where I have a regular room, and I 'll see you at breakfast.”
“Oh, I'm so glad,” said Adele. “Yes, I can finish telling you in the morning.” Then she seemed to notice her brother's long face, and she laughed out teasingly: “I 'll bet he and Dolly are no nearer together than ever.”