"Not in the least," he said, flicking an ash from the sleeve of his
uniform with a dexterous little finger, "especially as I am not going to
be with you all the way. These bucolic joys are hardly in my line. I'll
get you to drop me at the Country Club."
It was Eleanor's turn to cast a look of tragic appeal and get no
response. In vain she tried to persuade him to reconsider his decision.
His only concession was that he would remain at the apartment with her if
she would give up the expedition, a suggestion that was promptly vetoed
by Aunt Flo. Eleanor was angry enough to cry as she flung on her wraps in
the little silk-hung guest-room. Men were so selfish, she savagely told
herself; if either Quin or Harold had had a particle of consideration for
her they would not have spoiled her last day at home.
On the way out to the club she sat between them, miserably indifferent to
the glory of the spring day and refusing to contribute more than an
occasional monosyllable to the conversation, which needed all the
encouragement it could get to keep going.
"Shall I see you again before you go?" Harold asked coldly, upon leaving
the car.
She wanted very much to say no, and to say it in a way that would punish
him; but, in view of the important matter pending, she was forced to
swallow her pride and compromise.
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