“I don’t believe you care—­care if you do,” answered Rose Mary, and her blue eyes showed a decided temper spark under their black lashes.  “I see I made a mistake in expecting anything of you.  A friend’s fingers ought not to slip through yours when you need them to hold tight.  But come, get your supper—­”

“Please, Rose Mary, I’m most awfully ashamed,” he said as he came and stood close beside her, and there was a note in his voice that fairly startled him with its tenderness.  “I’m just a cross old bear, and I don’t deserve anything, no supper and no—­no Rose Mary to care whether I’m hungry or not and no—­”

“But I put the supper up,” said Rose Mary, with a little laugh and catch in her voice.  “I couldn’t let you be hungry, even if you did treat me that way.”

“Didn’t Jennie Rucker come to tell you I couldn’t get here to supper?” asked Everett with what he felt to be a contemptible feint of defense.

“Yes, she came; but you knew we were going to have company and that I wanted you to be here.  You know Mr. Newsome is the best friend we have in the world and your staying away meant that you didn’t care if he had been good to us.  It hurt me!  And the first bowl of lilacs was on the table; I had been saving them for a surprise for you for two days, and everything was so good and just as you like it and—­” Rose Mary’s voice faltered again and a little tear splashed on the saucer she held poised in her hand.

“Well,” answered Everett, like a sulky boy, “I didn’t want any of the Honorable Gid Newsome’s lilacs or waffles or fried chicken, and I didn’t want to see you fix any coffee for him,” he ended by blurting out.

“I didn’t—­I—­that is—­you are horrid,” answered Rose Mary, but she raised her eyes to his in which smiles waltzed around with tears and the glint of her white teeth showed through red lips curling with laugh that was forcing itself over them by way of the dimple in the corner of her chin.  “Anyway, what I have here on the top of the stove is your waffles and your fried chicken, and these are your lilacs,” and she drew out a purple spray from her belt and dropped it on the table beside him.  “Sit down and I’ll give it all to you right here while I finish wiping the dishes.  Mag was taken with a spell before supper was over and had to go lie down and I stayed to finish things while the others went over to the speaking,” she added as she began to bustle about with her usual hospitable concern.

“You are an angel, Rose Mary Alloway,” said Everett as he placed himself on a split-bottom kitchen chair, bestowed his long legs under the table and drew up as near to Rose Mary and her dish-towel as was possible to be sure of keeping out of the flirt.  “And I—­I’m a brute,” he added contritely, though he dared a quick kiss on the bare arm next and close to him.

“No, you’re not—­just a boy,” answered Rose Mary, as she set his supper on the table before him.  She had poured his coffee, stirred in the cream and sugar and then laid the spoon decorous and straight in the saucer beside the cup.  For an instant Everett sat very still and looked at her, then she picked up the cup and tipped it against her lips, sipped judiciously and set it down with a satisfied air.  For just a second her eyes had gleamed down at him over the edge of the cup and a tiny laugh gurgled in her throat as she swallowed her sip of his beverage.