"Don't. You mustn't," she repeated, with heated reproof. "I don't
want you to."
David smiled a sheepish smile, looking foolish, and not knowing what to
say. At the sight of his crestfallen expression she averted her eyes,
sorry that she had hurt him but not sufficiently sorry to risk a
repetition of the unpleasant experience. He, too, turned his glance
from her, biting his lip to hide the insincerity of his smile,
irritated at her unmanageableness, and in his heart valuing her more
highly that she was so hard to win. Both were exceedingly conscious,
and with deepened color sat gazing in opposite directions like children
who have had a quarrel.
A step behind them broke upon their embarrassment, saving them from the
necessity of speech. Daddy John's voice came with it:
"Missy, do you know if the keg of whisky was moved? It ain't where I
put it."
She turned with a lightning quickness.
"Whisky! Who wants whisky?"
Daddy John looked uncomfortable.
"Well, the doctor's took sort of cold, got a shiver on him like the
ague, and he thought a nip o' whisky'd warm him up."
She jumped to her feet.
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