As Mrs. Harris stood alone in a contemplative mood, she said aloud to herself: “Oh, dear! These hearts of ours! How foolish they make us at times—I have often thought our Sam was a ‘lady killer,’ now I am sure of it.”
Just then Sam Harris stepped across the piazza and entered the room.
Sam was a young man just having passed his twenty-fourth birthday. His strong chin was indicative of fidelity to his friends, and his mass of reddish, curly hair lent expression to a jovial expression of countenance.
Sam was particularly joyous in anticipation of meeting Virginia Thorpe. “Have you seen her, Auntie?” and he straightway opened a door leading to the library and looked in; then he closed it.
Mrs. Harris quietly watched him and became disturbed with misgivings, lest his zeal in his present frame of mind would impair the dignity she considered so essential to his enterprise as well as to the position the Harrises held in society.
It was therefore necessary to impress on him the importance of “proper” form, which she immediately undertook, and addressed him with calm stateliness.
“Now, Sam, I warn you to be careful how you greet Virginia. Remember, though but twenty-two, she is an accomplished young lady.”
“Don’t I know it!” he replied, with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t touch the portieres, Sam! Sam!” she exclaimed in alarm, but her command was unheeded, and Sam spread them wide apart, much to his aunt’s consternation.
No one being behind the portiere, she appeared amazed, but quickly recovering her composure, continued: