Edith told me that "Uncle Homer"-- which was old man King--and Mr.Weaver would be along presently.

They had driven over to Kenmore first, on a matter of business.
Frosty, I could see, was not going to stay, even though Edith, in a polite little voice that made me wonder at her, invited him to do so.

Edith was not the hostess, and had really no right to do that.
I tried to get a word with Miss Beryl, found myself having a good many words with Edith, instead, and in fifteen minutes I became as thoroughly disgusted with unkind fate as ever I've been in my life, and suddenly remembered that duty made further delay absolutely impossible.

We rode away, with Edith protesting prettily at what she was pleased to call my bad manners.
For the rest of the way up that coulee Frosty and I were even more silent and moody than we had been before.

The only time we spoke was when Frosty asked me gruffly how long those people expected to stay out here.