't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth
argument, is it?"

This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I could
not think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke again.

"Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine," she said. "I am sure your--supper,
was it?--must be waiting."

"Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your invitation
to visit your father. I assure you I--I should be very glad to call upon
him."

"Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your
condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine."

"Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I don't
know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my condescension."

Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal,
but I kept on.

"I don't understand what you mean by condescension," I said.

"Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine."

"Possibly. But I don't understand."

For an instant she hesitated. Then she turned on me with a gust of
fierce impatience which took my breath away. Her eyes flashed.

"You do," she declared. "You do understand, I am not blind. Do you
suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met you at
the bank just now? That my company was neither welcome nor desired? That
you accepted my suggestion of walking down together merely because you
could think of no excuse for declining?"

This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth.

"Miss Colton," I faltered, "I can't understand what you mean. I--"

"You do understand. And please," with a scornful laugh, "oh, PLEASE
understand that I am not troubled because of THAT. Your charming and
cultivated society is not indispensable to my happiness, Mr. Paine,
strange as that may appear to you. Really," with cutting contempt, "it
is not."

"That I quite understand, Miss Colton," I said, "but--"

"But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted place.
Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go! Every one here hates
us--every one. We are intruders; we are not wanted here, and you all
take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as you can. Oh, you are all
snobs--all of you."

I actually gasped.

"Snobs!" I repeated. "We--snobs?"

"Yes. That is exactly what you are. When Father came here he meant to be
a citizen, a good citizen, of the town. He had intended to do all sorts
of things to help the village and the people in it. He