Barbara wept copiously after her father had gone, but she realized that his will was law and that Monty must be invited.  “I will send an invitation,” she said to herself, “but if Mr. Brewster comes after he has read it, I shall be surprised.”

Montgomery, however, did not receive the note in the spirit in which it had been sent.  He only saw in it a ray of hope that Barbara was relenting and was jubilant at the prospect of a reconciliation.  The next Sunday he sought an interview with Miss Drew, but she received him with icy reserve.  If he had thought to punish her by staying away, it was evident that she felt equally responsible for a great deal of misery on his part.  Both had been more or less unhappy, and both were resentfully obstinate.  Brewster felt hurt and insulted, while she felt that he had imposed upon her disgracefully.  He was now ready to cry quits and it surprised him to find her obdurate.  If he had expected to dictate the terms of peace he was woefully disappointed when she treated his advances with cool contempt.

“Barbara, you know I care very much for you,” he was pleading, fairly on the road to submission.  “I am sure you are not quite indifferent to me.  This foolish misunderstanding must really be as disagreeable to you as it is to me.”

“Indeed,” she replied, lifting her brows disdainfully.  “You are assuming a good deal, Mr. Brewster.”

“I am merely recalling the fact that you once told me you cared.  You would not promise anything, I know, but it meant much that you cared.  A little difference could not have changed your feeling completely.”

“When you are ready to treat me with respect I may listen to your petition,” she said, rising haughtily.

“My petition?” He did not like the word and his tact quite deserted him.  “It’s as much yours as mine.  Don’t throw the burden of responsibility on me, Miss Drew.”

“Have I suggested going back to the old relations?  You will pardon me if I remind you of the fact that you came to-day on your own initiative and certainly without my solicitation.”

“Now, look here, Barbara—­” he began, dimly realizing that it was going to be hard, very hard, to reason.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Brewster, but you will have to excuse me.  I am going out.”

“I regret exceedingly that I should have disturbed you to-day, Miss Drew,” he said, swallowing his pride.  “Perhaps I may have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

As he was leaving the house, deep anger in his soul, he encountered the Colonel.  There was something about Monty’s greeting, cordial as it was, that gave the older man a hint as to the situation.

“Won’t you stop for dinner, Monty?” he asked, in the hope that his suspicion was groundless.

“Thank you, Colonel, not to-night,” and he was off before the Colonel could hold him.

Barbara was tearfully angry when her father came into the room, but as he began to remonstrate with her the tears disappeared and left her at white heat.