The girl opened her mouth to speak: but there came a welcome diversion. A step was heard on the wooden verandah, and the two young people, turning their heads together, saw a liveried servant at the still open door, bowing, speaking:-- "Miss Flower, marm?" "Yes--I am Miss Flower." "Fum Mr. Tilletts, marm," said the servant, extending a note. "And he say please don't you trouble to write, if you'd kindly send an answer by me, marm." "Oh! All right." Having said, "Excuse me, Mr. Garrott," Angela opened and glanced through her note, and then remarked: "Mr. Tilletts wants me to go to the theater with him to-night. How nice!" Her back to the servant, she made a little deprecating face at Mr. Garrott; but her voice seemed pleasurably stirred all the same, and her answer to the chauffeur was:-- "Thank Mr. Tilletts, and say Miss Flower'll be very glad, indeed, to go, and will be ready at quarter past eight." Charles wondered afterward if the opportune Tilletts had not subtly assisted his own withdrawal; but for the moment it rather seemed otherwise. While Angela spoke to the servant, he had turned hastily toward his overcoat; and now her hand fell upon his arm, with just a touch of the spoiled darling air, or at least with that added confidence which comes to a girl with these concrete evidences of her success. "No, you mustn't! Don't go yet. _Please!_" "I'm compelled to, unluckily. I very rarely allow myself the pleasure of calling at all, you know, and--" "But you _have_ allowed yourself the pleasure, now, Mr. Garrott! Oh!--don't be so _firm_! Come in--for only a minute! You can surely spare me a minute--when I ask you to specially--" "It is literally impossible." Angela had extended her small hand to lead him into the parlor. Now she let it fall at her side, and stood looking at him with a conscious expression on her face, a pretty expression, but one that he scarcely liked. Of course both of them knew that it was by no means literally impossible for Mr. Garrott to come in, for only a minute. But doubtless a womanly girl could be trusted to find an explanation for his peculiar speeches that plucked their stingers from them, as it were. "You're so strange. You're displeased with me, I can see that. Why?--because I wasn't in when you called? Why, I'm nearly always out on fine afternoons!" "I know that," ventured the young man. "If you'd just told me in advance.... Don't you know I'd never have gone out with Dan Jenney, if I'd dreamed you were going to call?" He knew this also, only too well; but this time he only said: "A caller must take his chances, of course. By the way, let me thank you very much, again, for lending me that book. I found it immensely interesting." "Oh!--'Marna'? I didn't want you to come just for that.... Did she make you think of Cousin Mary at all?" He smiled distantly, turned away, and put on his overcoat.