Valencia nodded. “He'll like you all the better for standing up to him. He's fond of Alice because she's impudent to him.”
“I didn't mean to be impudent, but I couldn't lie down and let him prove me what he called me.”
“If you're that kind of a man I'm almost glad you're going to make me marry you,” she confided.
He leaned over her chair, his eyes shining. “I'll make you more than almost glad, Valencia. You're going to learn what it is to—oh, damn it!”
He was impersonally admiring her Whistler when the maid brushed aside the portieres. She had come to bring Mrs. Van Tyle a telegram.
“No answer, Pratt.”
After the maid had retired her mistress called James to her side. Over her shoulder he read it.
“Glad he is an American and not living on his father. Didn't think you had so much sense. Tell that young man I want to see him in New York immediately.”
The message was signed with the name of her father.
“What do you suppose he wants with you in New York?”