" He
left Clyde and his roses, and turned to the young lady. "Well now, look
here, Sancie--if works of mercy are toward, what d'you say to one on your
own account? Here I stand, an orphan boy, upon my honour. The master's
gone riding with the widow." He stopped his rattle, as a thought struck
him serious for a moment. "By George, and he's a widower--so he is!"
Discharged of that, he resumed--"Yes, and Mrs. Devereux has got the hump,
as they say--and here I am at your mercy, to be made much of. Who's going
to admire me? Who's going to hold my net? Who's going to say, 'Oh, what a
beauty!'" He had now got her thoroughly at her old ease with him. Her eyes
gleamed, and there was no doubting her smile. "Now, I'll tell you what.
Your roses are all right. Glyde will see to that. You leave that to Glyde
and his strong right arm. His strength is as the strength of ten,
because... you follow me, I think? Now, Sancie, I put it to you--I'm
an old friend of the family, and haven't seen you for--how many
years? Aren't you going to give me half-an-hour of your morning?"
He pleaded by looks. He was quizzical, but in earnest. Her brow was clear.
"Yes," she said. "I'll come--for half-an-hour.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107