Miss Conklin disengaged herself. On reaching the house, however, she
offered her lips before getting out of the buggy.

When alone in his bedroom, Bancroft sat and thought. The events of the
evening had been annoying. Miss Loo's conduct had displeased him; he did
not like familiarity. He would not acknowledge to himself that he was
jealous. The persistent way Stevens had tried to puzzle her had
disgusted him--that was all. It was sufficiently plain that in the past
she had encouraged Stevens. Her freedom and boldness grated upon his
nerves. He condemned her with a sense of outraged delicacy. Girls ought
not to make advances; she had no business to ask him whether he liked
her; she should have waited for him to speak plainly. He only required
what was right. Yet the consciousness that she loved him flattered his
vanity and made him more tolerant; he resolved to follow her lead or to
improve upon it. Why shouldn't he? She had said "every girl expects to
be kissed." And if she wanted to be kissed, it was the least he could do
to humour her.

All the while, at the bottom of his heart there was bitterness. He would
have given much to believe that an exquisite soul animated that lovely
face. Perhaps she was better than she seemed. He tried to smother his
distrust of her, till it was rendered more acute by another reflection--
she had got him into the quarrel with Seth Stevens. He did not trouble
much about it. He was confident enough of his strength and the
advantages of his boyish training in the gymnasium to regard the trial
with equanimity. Still, the girls he had known in the East would never
have set two men to fight, never--it was not womanly. Good girls were by
nature peacemakers. There must be something in Loo, he argued, almost--
vulgar, and he shrank from the word. To lessen the sting of his
disappointment, he pictured her to himself and strove to forget her