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 be right…. And if you went with me, folks would talk…. I mustn’t go with you—don’t you see?”

She was thoroughly angry now, angry with Angus as well as with Mary Browning. “I don’t see…. I’m not a baby. Whose business is it where I go, or with whom?”

“Mrs. Browning knows best,” said Angus weakly.

“Mrs. Browning doesn’t know a bit more than I do…. Will you go with me, or won’t you?”

Her tone was sharp; it aroused Angus to an appreciation of the thing as it was. For the moment he saw Lydia as a petulant, willful little girl, felt his own age and maturity—the superiority of the adult over the child. He did not hesitate now but spoke firmly.

“No, Lydia, I can’t go with you.”

“You can’t—you mean you won’t! Very well, do as you like. I never asked you to do anything for me before, and you may depend on it, I shall never ask you again…. I’m much obliged to you, I’m sure. It’s a pleasant and courteous and gentlemanly thing to refuse a girl’s request without any reason, isn’t it? Well, you can stay at home, Angus Burke, or you can go to China, for all I care…. I’m going, and I’m going alone.”

They had been walking up the street, and now turned the corner toward Craig Browning’s