"You mad at me, Mr. Sanders?" she asked jauntily.
"You know I'm not."
"How do I know it?" she asked innocently. "You say as little to me as you can, and get away from me as quick as you can. Yesterday, for instance, you'd hardly say 'Good-morning.'"
"I didn't mean to be rude. I was busy." Dave felt acutely uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry if I didn't seem sociable."
"So was Mr. Hart busy, but he had time to stop and say a pleasant word."
The brown eyes challenged their vis-à-vis steadily.
The young man found nothing to say. He could not explain that he had not lingered because he was giving Bob a chance to see her alone, nor could he tell her that he felt it better for his peace of mind to keep away from her as much as possible.
"I'm not in the habit of inviting young men to invite me to take a soda, Mr. Sanders," she went on. "This is my first offense. I never did it before, and I never expect to again…. I do hope the new well will come in a good one." The last sentence was for the benefit of the clerk returning with the ice-cream.
"Looks good," said Dave, playing up. "Smut's showing, and you know that's a first-class sign."
"Bob said it was expected in to-day or to-morrow…. I asked you because I've something to say to you, something I think one of your friends ought to say, and—and I'm going to do it," she concluded in a voice modulated just to reach him.
The clerk had left the glasses and the check. He was back at the fountain polishing the counter.