Behind Mr. Carr, in the doorway, stood Drusilla and Flavilla. The
young man tried not to see them; he pretended not to. But he flushed
deeply.
"I want to know," demanded Mr. Carr, "why the devil you are always around
here blushing. You've been around here blushing for a month, and I want
to know why you do it."
The youth stood speechless, features afire to the tips of his glowing
ears.
"At first," continued Mr. Carr, mercilessly, "I had a vague hope that you
might perhaps be blushing for shame at your profession; I heard that you
were young at it, and I was inclined to be sorry for you. But I'm not
sorry any more!"
The young man remained crimson and dumb.
"Confound it," resumed Mr. Carr, "I want to know why the deuce you come
and blush all over my lawn. I won't stand it! I'll not allow anybody to
come blushing around me----"
Indignation choked him; he turned on his heel to enter the house and
beheld Flavilla and Drusilla regarding him, wide-eyed.
He went in, waving them away before him.
"I've taught that young pup a lesson," he said with savage satisfaction.
"I'll teach him to blush at me! I'll----"
"But why," asked Drusilla, "are you so cruel to Mr. Yates? We like him."
"Mr.--Mr. _Yates!_" repeated her father, astonished. "Is that his name?
And who told _you?_"
"He did," said Drusilla, innocently.
"He--that infernal newspaper bantam----"
"Pa-_pah!_ Please don't say that about Mr.
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