She waved the proffered hand aside. Her violet eyes eddied up with a slow flame of anger.
"I don't want to shake hands with you!" she said.
"Eh?" Tom Graves did not believe his ears. "Aren't you glad to see a face from home? Why, say, I am plumb tickled to see you. I. . ."
The girl stamped her foot.
"I am—oh—angry!" she cried. "Frightfully angry! What do you mean by persecuting me, by following me when you know you are not wanted?"
"Me—persecute—you?" stammered Tom. "Me—follow—you?"
"Exactly! Don't play the stupid! I took the first train for New York, the first steamship out of New York, as soon as Uncle Heinrich cabled that his mother, my grandmother, was sick, near death, and wanted to see me once more. And here you. . . Have you no shame, no decency?"
"Say, Bertha," stammered Tom, "Honest to God, I don't know anything of what you're saying. I guess I left Spokane a few days before you did. Why, I spent half a week in New York, just fretting and fuming to get away. Didn't your father tell you?"
"He did not! And I don't believe you! No, I do not! You are insufferable. Can't you take no for an answer? Do you think, do you imagine for a moment, that you can win me by such silly, ill-bred, rude persecution? Do you think you can bully me into marrying you? Haven't you got any more manhood than that?”
"Look here, Bertha. . ."
"You heard what I said, Tom Graves. And if you dare say a word to me on board this ship, if you as much as smile at me, I am going to complain to the captain. There!" and she swept off while he looked
