She
relinquished her umbrella, and they walked off together.
"What on earth is the matter with that man?" asked Jennie, her eyes on
the receding couple; then she glanced at Westerfelt, and added, with a
little giggle, "What's the matter with _you_?"
Westerfelt seemed not to hear.
"Mr. Bates looks like he's lost his best friend," went on the
irrepressible girl. "Look how he wabbles; he walks like he was
following a plough in new ground. I wouldn't want him to swing my
parasol about that way. What do you reckon ails him?"
"I don't know," said Westerfelt. Her words irritated him like the
persistent buzzing of a mosquito.
"I wonder if that fellow is goose enough to go an' fall in love with
Harriet."
"What if he should?" Westerfelt was interested.
"She hain't in love with him."
"How do you know?"
"How do I _know_? Because she is silly enough to be gone on a man that
don't care a snap for her."
"Wambush?"
"No," scornfully; "_you_, that's who."
Westerfelt was silent for a moment, then he said: "How do you know I
don't care for her?"
"You don't show it; you always stay away from her.
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