But come, get your supper--"
"Please, Rose Mary, I'm most awfully ashamed," he said as he came and
stood close beside her, and there was a note in his voice that fairly
startled him with its tenderness. "I'm just a cross old bear, and I
don't deserve anything, no supper and no--no Rose Mary to care whether
I'm hungry or not and no--"
"But I put the supper up," said Rose Mary, with a little laugh and
catch in her voice. "I couldn't let you be hungry, even if you did
treat me that way."
"Didn't Jennie Rucker come to tell you I couldn't get here to
supper?" asked Everett with what he felt to be a contemptible feint of
defense.
"Yes, she came; but you knew we were going to have company and that I
wanted you to be here. You know Mr. Newsome is the best friend we have
in the world and your staying away meant that you didn't care if he
had been good to us. It hurt me! And the first bowl of lilacs was on
the table; I had been saving them for a surprise for you for two days,
and everything was so good and just as you like it and--" Rose Mary's
voice faltered again and a little tear splashed on the saucer she held
poised in her hand.
"Well," answered Everett, like a sulky boy, "I didn't want any of the
Honorable Gid Newsome's lilacs or waffles or fried chicken, and I
didn't want to see you fix any coffee for him," he ended by blurting
out.
"I didn't--I--that is--you are _horrid_," answered Rose Mary, but she
raised her eyes to his in which smiles waltzed around with tears and
the glint of her white teeth showed through red lips curling with
laugh that was forcing itself over them by way of the dimple in the
corner of her chin.
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