The fellows
had already gone down to the evening meal. He could hear the clink of
china and silver in the distant dining-room. It was a good time to
'phone.
A moment, and Gila's cool contralto answered: "_Hel_-lo-_oo_!" There was
something about the way that Gila said that word that conveyed a whole
lot of things, instantly putting the caller at his distance, but placing
the lady on a pedestal before which it became most desirable to bow.
"This is Paul Courtland!"
"Oh! Mr. Courtland!" Her voice was freezing.
But Courtland was not used to being frozen out. "I owe you an apology,
Miss Dare," he said, with dignity. He didn't care how blunt he sounded
now. It always angered him to be frozen! "Your letter reached me just
as I was leaving here last evening on a very important errand. I put it
in my pocket, but I have been so occupied that it escaped my mind
utterly until just now. I hope I did not cause you much inconvenience."
"Oh, it really didn't _mattah_ in the _least_!" answered Gila,
indifferently. Nothing could be colder or more distant than her voice,
and yet there was something in it this time, a subtle lure, that
exasperated. A teasing little something at his spirit demanded to be set
right in her eyes--to have her the suppliant rather than himself.
"I really am awfully ashamed," he said, in quite a boyish, humble tone,
and then gasped at himself. What was there about Gila that always "got a
fellow's goat"?
After that Gila had the conversation quite where she wanted it, and
finally she told him sweetly that he might come over this evening if he
chose.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185