"No; thank you very much. Mr. Pryor couldn't possibly come. He is only

here over Sunday, and--" She looked towards the dining-room for

protection, but the door had been gently closed.

"Hey?" Benjamin Wright said blankly. "Well, I won't insist; I won't

insist. We'll wait till he goes. Come Monday night."

"Oh," she said, her voice fluttering, "I am sorry but I really can't."

"Why can't you?" he insisted. "Come, tell the truth! The advantage of

telling the truth, young lady, is that neither God nor the devil can

contradict you!" He laughed, eying her with high good humor.

"Oh, it's merely--" she hesitated, and he looked affronted.

"What! Some female airs about coming to an unmarried man's house?" Her

involuntary mirth disarmed him. "No? Well, I'm glad you've got some

sense. Then you'll come?"

"If I went to your house, it would seem unfriendly not to go to other

houses."

"Why shouldn't you go to other houses? Done anything you're ashamed

of?" He laughed uproariously at his own wit. "Come now; don't be

finikin and ladylike!"

"I don't make visits," she explained, the color rising angrily in her

cheeks.

"Gad-a-mercy! Why not?" he interrupted. "Do you think you're too good

for us here in Old Chester?"

"Oh, Mr. Wright!"

"Or perhaps Old Chester is too good for you?"

His face had softened wonderfully; he was looking at her with the same

quizzical delight with which he would look at one of his canaries when

he caught it, and held it struggling in his hand. "Are we too good for

you?" he jeered, "too--"

He stopped abruptly, his laugh breaking off in the middle. Then his

mouth fell slowly open in blank amazement; he leaned forward in his

chair and stared at her without a word.

"I don't care for society," she said, in a frightened way, and rose as

if to bring the visit to an end.

But Benjamin Wright sat still, slowly nodding his head. "You don't

care for society? I wonder why."

"Oh, because I am--a very quiet person," she stammered.

The dining-room door opened and Sarah came in, looked about, found the

decanter, and withdrew.

"Where is--that gentleman?" the old man demanded.

"Mr. Pryor went in to dinner," she said faintly. "Please excuse him;

he was tired."

The silence that fell between them was like a blow. ... Mr. Wright

pulled himself to his feet, and with one shaking hand on the table

felt his way around until he stood directly in front of her; he put

his face close to hers and stared into her eyes, his lower lip opening

and closing in silence. Then, without speaking, he began to grope

about on the table for his hat and stick.




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