But Win already knew this, to her
sorrow. She was _glad_ she had thought of that horrid speech about the
cinema. The man deserved it.
"That's the last I shall see of him!" she said to herself almost
viciously, as the Irish-American official spied upon her toque the
wing of a fowl domesticated since the ark. Yet for the second time
Peter came back, stiffly lifting his hat.
"I only wanted to say," he explained, "that, cinema or no cinema, I
hope, if I can be of service now or later, you will allow me the
privilege. My address---"
"I have your _sister's_, thank you," she cut his words short as with a
pair of scissors. "That's the same thing, isn't it?"
"Yes," he answered heavily--perhaps guiltily. And this time he was
gone for good.
"What a neat expression," thought Winifred. "Gone for good!"
It sounded like a long time.
CHAPTER VI
THE HANDS WITH THE RINGS
Peter Rolls, Jr., unlike his father, had practically no talent for
revenge. In common with every warm-blooded creature lower than the
angels, he could be fiercely vindictive for a minute or two--long
enough, when a small boy, to give a bloody nose and to get one; long
enough, at all ages, to want to hit a man, thoroughly smash him,
perhaps, or even to kick him into the middle of next week; long enough
to feel that he would like to make a woman sorry that she had been
rude.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80