Loren had learned a vast deal at college; among other scraps
of intelligence he had discovered that his family were a little
outlandish, and that Melton was altogether too slow a place for a
rational being like himself to exist in except, at the best, for a few
summer weeks. His latest letter, received only yesterday, was a
characteristic one, and David had unintentionally resented its tone of
breezy self-assurance: "... I suppose I shall show up at fair Melton,"
it had read, "about 2:35 on Saturday, unless, that is, I happen to get
a few days' invite to New York. Of course David will be down to meet
me and bring my trunk up." The words were innocent enough, but they
had insinuated their way into his mind and rankled there like an evil
thing. "Yes, _of course_ I will be down," he said to himself somewhat
bitterly; "of course I will, that's to be expected. And bring up his
trunk for him; yes, that's just what I like--the chance to fetch
Loren's trunk, and I like his way of taking it all for granted, too."
The mental transition to the matter of Janet's invitation was a
natural one.
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