"Yes; just a little canter."

"Alone?" Pell followed up.

"Yes; why?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing at all." There was a nasal tone in his voice
always--a twang that grated on sensitive ears. He turned on Gilbert. "How
about dinner?" he asked, almost as though the young fellow were a hotel
clerk.

"It isn't ready yet," Jones answered. He disliked the other's tone. After
all, he was a guest in his, Gilbert's, house. He hoped their wretched
business would soon be settled, and Pell return to New York. He had had his
fill of him.

Pell, seemingly oblivious of the bad impression he had made, started toward
the door. He had not put the bag down. "Well, call me when dinner _is_
ready, will you? I won't be far away."

"Where are you going?" Lucia ventured.

"Out," was Pell's curt reply; and he almost knocked Uncle Henry's chair
aside as he hurried into the yard.

There was an awkward silence at his departure. Everyone felt a little
ashamed for him; but Gilbert was determined that Lucia should not read his
thoughts. So he said, nonchalantly, "Well, Lucia, how did the pony
behave?" just as though Pell had never been in the room.