“I’ve ’bout made up my mind on that point, Miss Standish. An’ when I an’ the young lady I have in mind gets to be a little better acquainted, I hope she’ll agree with me.”
“Suppose,” gasped Letty, for once fighting back the tears, “suppose the girl you picked out happened to be in love with someone else? Or even,” gasping again, at her own boldness, “even engaged to someone else.”
“I don’t think that’d worry me so very much,” he said slowly, bending nearer to his shrinking hostess, “I’m in the habit of takin’ what I want. An’ I never yet found anyone who could keep me from doin’ it. That sounds like a brag. But it ain’t; as I hope I’ll be able to show you some day.”
The girl rose, shaking, to her feet. The advent of a new guest alone saved her from fleeing panic-stricken to her room. But as a step sounded on the walk below, she paused irresolute.
“Good evening!” said the late comer, limping slightly as he mounted the steps.
At his voice a murmur of surprise rippled from the others. Letty went forward to welcome him.
“Why, Mr. Blacarda!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t even know you were out of the hospital. I’m so glad to see you again. You came to talk to Father, of course. I can’t venture to hope we young people drew you here. I’ll have him sent for,” touching the doorbell, “He’s in his study.”
As a servant departed in search of Reuben Standish, she went on; striving by words to drown her dull terror:
“You know everyone here, I think. Except perhaps—have you ever met Mr. Conover?”
Blacarda halted midway in a step forward, and stood uncertain, gaping. Caleb, however, was charmingly at his ease.