"Pardonnez-moi!" Mademoiselle Antoinette stood at the door. Around
and about her hung blushing apology, and her hands clasped and
unclasped in nervous appeal. The hour had struck and her little
charges must come. Would Monsieur pardon? She was so sorry, it was
sad, but Madame would not like it. "Oh, of course!" Laine waved his
hand. "Good night, Buster!" Channing was tossed in the air. "If
the gobblers get you to-night, don't mind. They're just turkey.
Good night, Miss Wisdom!" Stooping, he kissed Dorothea and unwound
the arms with which she clung to him. "I'm sorry, child, but a
bargain is a bargain, and your mother won't trust us if we don't play
fair-- It's after eight and--" "But I haven't told you what was the
specialest thing I had to--" Dorothea turned to the woman standing
in the door holding her brother's hand; spoke to her rapidly.
"Je vous en prie, Mademoiselle Antoinette, Prenez Channing et ne
m'attendez pas. Je vous rejoindrai dans un instant. J'ai quelque
chose de tres important a dier a mon oncle--deux minutes et j'arrive!"
Antoinette hesitated, then, with a gesture of despair, left the room;
and instantly Dorothea was on a stool at her uncle's feet.
"Did you know?" Elbows on his knees and chin in the palms of her
hands she looked up eagerly in his face. "Did you know my cousin
Claudia was coming to-night?"
"I did."
"Isn't it grand!" Dorothea's hands came together, and in another
minute she was dancing round and round the room, the tip ends of her
skirt held by her fingers. "I'm crazy about my cousin Claudia.
She's my only correspondent, the only one I love to write to, I mean.
She writes things I like to hear about, and Christmas she sends me
something I want. That's the way we began to write. She sent me a
present, and father made me thank her in writing myself, and then she
wrote me and we've been friends ever since."
Laine knocked the ashes from his cigar toward the grate. "I didn't
know you knew Miss Keith."
"I don't. But I'm going to like her all right. Some things you know
right here"--she put her hand on her breast. "Father's been wanting
mother to ask her for a long time, but mother said she knew she
didn't have clothes like New York people wore, and it might make her
feel badly. I heard them talking one night, and father said the
Keiths didn't have to depend on their clothes to show where they
belonged, so mother invited her; but I don't think she wanted to very
much. Do you suppose?"--she came toward him, and, with her hands on
the arms of his chair, searched his face--"Do you suppose she will be
very country-looking?"
"I really couldn't guess. People who live in the backwoods and miles
from a railroad are not apt to be leaders of fashion. Doubtless her
hands will be red and her face will be red and her hair will be red,
but--"
"I don't care how red she is, I'm going to love her. I can tell by
her letters!" Dorothea's shoulders were back and her eyes were
shining. "And I don't see why you say things like that! I don't
think you are very polite!"
"I don't, either. I think I'm very impolite. It may be, you know,
that her eyes will be blue and her lips will be blue and her skin
will be blue--"
"And that will be worse than red. I thought you were going to be
glad she was coming. Aren't you glad?"
"Shall I tell the truth, or be polite?"
"Both."
"Impossible! If I told you I was glad I would be untruthful; if
sorry, I would be impolite."
"But why aren't you glad? Are you too old to be glad over young
ladies?"
Laine laughed. "I think I am. Yes, I'm sure that's what's the
matter. Not for some years have I been glad over them, I don't care
for girls older than you are, Dorothea. When they reach the grown-up
age--"
"Claudia has reached the age of twenty-six. She told me so in one of
her letters. What age have you reached, Uncle Winthrop?"
"Middle age."
"Is that very old?" Dorothea came closer, and her fingers slipped in
and out of Laine's hair. "You're gray just a teensy bit, but I don't
think she's a person who will mind if a man isn't truly young.
You've got such nice strong arms, and I'm not afraid of lions or
tigers or bears or--or mice or anything when you are with me. Please
like her, Uncle Winthrop!" Dorothea's face was pressed against
Laine's. "Next to father and mother and Channing I love you best,
and I think I'm going to love her next after you."
"Mademoiselle Dorothea!"
From the steps outside Antoinette was calling, and Dorothea nodded
her head at her uncle. "That's another thing my children are not
going to have. They are never going to have a French governess to
put them to bed and make them say their prayers in French. I don't
believe the Lord likes it. Good night, Uncle Winthrop. I hope my
cousin Claudia will be politer about you than you've been about her,
and I know she hasn't red hands." She waved her own and threw a kiss,
but as she reached the door Laine called her back.
"Come here, Dorothea."