‘Tom Tracy!’ and Jerrie’s parasol was raised so defiantly and her eyes flashed so indignantly that Tom did not finish what he was going to say, but cowered a little before the angry girl, who stood so tall before him and hurled her words at him with such scathing vehemence.  ’Tom Tracy!  Stop!  You have said enough.  When you made me believe that you really did care for me; and I suppose you must, or you would not have thrown over a governor’s daughter for me, or left so many lovelorn, high-born maidens out in the cold, I was sorry for you, for I hate to give any one pain, and I would rather have you my friend than my enemy; but when you taunt me with expectations from your uncle—.’

Here Jerrie paused, for the lump in her throat would not suffer the words to come, and there arose before her as if painted upon canvas the low room, the white stove, the firelight on the whiter face, the writing on the lap, and the little child in the far-off German city.  But she would have died sooner than have told Tom of this, or that the conviction was strong upon her that she should one day stand there under the pines, herself the heiress of Tracy Park, Gretchen’s memory honored, and Gretchen’s wrongs wiped out.

After a moment she went on: 

’I care nothing for your money, and less for you, who show the meanness there is in your nature when you speak of Harold Hastings as you have done.  Supposing he is poor—­suppose he is a painter and a carpenter, and has been what you started to call him—­is he less a man for that?  A thousand times no, and there is more of true manhood and nobility in his little finger than in your whole body; and if Maude has won his love, she should be prouder of it than of a duchess’ coronet.  I do not wish to wound you, but when you talk of Harold, you make me so mad.  Good-morning; it is time for me to be at my drudgery, as you call it.’

She walked rapidly away, leaving her parasol, which she had again thrust into the ground, flopping in the breeze which had just sprung up, and each flop seemed to mock the discomfited Tom, who, greatly astonished but not at all out of conceit with himself, sat staring blankly after her, and with her head and shoulders more erect than usual, if possible, she went on almost upon a run until a turn in the road hid her from view.  Then he arose and shook himself together, and picking up the soiled parasol, folded it carefully and put it upon the seat, saying as he did so: 

’By George! did that girl know what she was about when she refused to marry me?’

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE GARDEN PARTY.