Lola made no effort to stop them, and they walked on up the beach in search of peace and quiet, Mrs. Harlan angry and disgusted, Bob deeply discouraged.
"There," exclaimed Dick. "You've driven them away again!"
"What of it?" Lola looked at him coldly. "Go with them if you want to!"
"I don't, but Bob's getting tired of this sort of thing, and he's too good a fellow to be made uncomfortable all the time."
"He's a fool--a perfect fool; you know he is, Dick Fenway. The only thing in the world that would really please him would be to eat a good dinner in a deaf and dumb asylum. I'm tired to death of him and of your Mrs. Harlan, too. She's coarse, and low, and vulgar, and if you had any respect for me at all you wouldn't force me to be with such a person!"
"But, my dear girl, you know I can't help it!"
"Well, you ought to help it," she replied cruelly. "It puts me in a false position, to be seen with a woman of that sort. Everyone notices it. Mr. Bradley practically said as much to me this morning."
"And took time enough saying it, too," said Dick resentfully. "I thought the old man had tied himself to your skirts for the day. You kept me waiting a good half hour. What are you trying to jolly him for; we don't want any of his money."
She made no reply to this, but threw herself back on the sand and, shading her face with her parasol, deliberately closed her eyes.
"I say, Lola," Dick remarked after a moment's pause; "if you don't care to make any more of an effort than this to be sociable, I think I'll leave you here while I go back to the hotel; the mail is in by now, and I'm almost sure to get some news from Cleveland."
"A very good idea," she answered calmly. "I'll wait right here until you return. You are so cross to-day that I don't think you would be very good company."
He made no reply. "What was the use of starting another battle?" he said to himself bitterly; "all that I can do is to go away and come back when she isn't so cranky."
They parted like this, as men and women have parted since first they came into the world. She, perfectly serene, as sure of his return as she was of her own unreasonableness. He, puzzled as to just what his fault had been and not quite sure whether to be angry with her or with himself. A man is always very sorry for the thing he is quite innocent of having done; it is only when he has really been at fault that he remains calmly indifferent.