"And he hasn't had a chance to bring them out all day--"
"Frances!"
"Here they are," teased his daughter, "with your report on agriculture,"
she held up dramatically the big book she had dragged from beneath the
papers on the table. "I have been listening to hear him begin talking
of it every moment. He's just been waiting the right time,--you know you
have," to her father.
The professor fingered the pamphlet nervously. "You know, here--the
secretary says--"
"There, he has begun; I am going to see about supper."
Edward listened. There was much to awaken his keenest interest. He was
devoted to his pursuit, theory and practice. But he was listening too,
with all his inner consciousness, for a light footstep, and when Frances
came quietly back with an amused look at the two, his eyes flashed her
amusement back at her, as with much show of not disturbing them, she
slipped into a chair before the fire. The professor was unconscious; he
was in full swing and went on glibly.
The young man's face was turned attentively towards him; the father did
not know that just so Frances' face was in the line of vision, but
Edward knew. It needed but the flicker of an eyelid for him to watch
the supple figure in its careless lounging; the fluff of the dark hair
above her forehead, the curve of the long black lashes as she gazed
thoughtfully into the fire. A cosy fireside, an easy chair and this same
occupant for it flashed for a moment on the horizon of his dreamings. It
was but a dream he dared not name even to himself,--a vision that
dazzled him. He put his hand over his eyes.