"If I were only on speaking and flirting terms," she thought (the
two relations were about synonymous in her estimation), "I might
draw him on to a point which would give me a chance of punishing
him far more than is now possible by sullenly keeping aloof. As
it is, it looks to these people here as if he had jilted me instead
of I him, and that I am sulking over it."

But she had entangled herself in the snarl of her own previous
words and manner. She had charged her mother and cousin to permit
no overtures of peace; and once or twice, when mine host, in his
good-natured, off-hand manner, had sought to introduce them, she
had been so blind and deaf to his purpose as to appear positively
rude. Her repugnance to the artist had become a generally recognized
fact; and she had built up such a barrier that she could not break
it down without asking for more help than was agreeable to her
pride. But she chafed inwardly at her false position, and at the
increasing popularity of the object of her spite.

Even her mother at last formed his acquaintance; and, as the artist
listened to the garrulous lady for half an hour with scarcely an
interruption, she pronounced him one of the most entertaining of
men.

As Mrs. Mayhew was chanting his praises that evening, Ida broke
out petulantly:

"Was there ever such a gad-fly as this artist! He pesters me from
morning till night."

"Pesters you! I never saw a lady so severely let alone as you are