Jim hadn't cheered perceptibly, and the
rest were patting him on the back, and pouring things out for
him, and saying, "Poor old Jim" in the most maddening way. And
the Harbison man was looking more and more puzzled, and not at
all hilarious.
I descended on them like a thunderbolt.
"That's it," I cried shrewishly, with my back against the door.
"Leave her to me, all of you, and pat each other on the back, and
say it's gone splendidly! Oh, I know you, every one!" Mr.
Harbison got up and pulled out a chair, but I couldn't sit; I
folded my arms on the back. "After a while, I suppose, you'll
slip upstairs, the four of you, and have your game." They looked
guilty. "But I will block that right now. I am going to
stay--here. If Aunt Selina wants me, she can find me--here!"
The first indication those men had that Mr. Harbison didn't know
the state of affairs was when he turned and faced them.
"Mrs. Wilson is quite right," he said gravely. "We're a selfish
lot. If Miss Caruthers is a responsibility, let us share her."
"To arms!" Jim said, with an affectation of lightness, as they
put their glasses down, and threw open the door. Dal's retort,
"Whose?" was lost in the confusion, and we went into the library.
On the way Dallas managed to speak to me.
"If Harbison doesn't know, don't tell him," he said in an
undertone.
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