"I gave mine to Estelle. You can get them downstairs at the news-stand."
"I'll run down now--be back in a second." And Papa Claude rushed
impetuously from the room.
Eleanor and Harold stood facing each other where he had left them, he
with an air of apologetic amusement, and she with an angry dignity that
rested incongruously on her childish prettiness.
"Will you please go down and tell Mr. Pfingst that I am not coming to his
party?" she asked, with the obvious intention of getting rid of him.
"Why aren't you?"
"Because I don't like him."
"Neither do I. But what has that to do with it? Estelle Linton will take
him off our hands."
"I don't care for Miss Linton, either. If I had known----"
"Oh, come! Haven't we got past that?" scoffed Harold, sitting astride a
chair and looking at her quizzically. "Nobody pays any attention to
Estelle's numerous little affairs. I'd as soon think of criticizing a
Watteau lady on an ivory fan!"
"You can probably catch Mr. Pfingst in the dining-room if you go down at
once," suggested Eleanor pointedly.
"But I've no intention of going down at once. Eleanor, why do you play
with me like this? Can't you see that this can't go on? I've been
patient, God knows.
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