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He's
coming! So you must come. We expect the Baxters and Mr. Morewood. But I
want _you_.""
"What has she done? Who's coming?" asked Marchmont.
"Mr. Quisante."
He paused for a moment before he said, "You won't go, I suppose?"
"I must go if Amy wants me as much as that. Besides--well, perhaps it'll
be interesting."
A chill fell on Marchmont, and its influence spread to his companion.
Here at least he had hoped to be rid of Quisante, to find a place where
the man could not be met, and people to whom the man was as a friend
impossible. May read his thoughts, but her purpose wavered. She liked him
very much; that hot rebellious fit, which made her impatient of his
limits, was not on her now. He had found her in a more reasonable normal
mood, when his advantages pleaded hard for him, and the limits seemed
figments of a disorderly transient fancy. Thus he had come happily, and
success had been in the mood to kiss his standards.
"I wonder you can endure the man in the same house with you," he said.
She made no answer except to smile, and he spoke no more of Quisante.


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