“You guess wide of the mark.”
“Aha,” replied Sam, with a roguish twinkle of the eye, “my eyes do not deceive me, eh?”
“Flattery is embarrassing to me. I beg of you to avoid it.” And she thereupon, with a look of weariness, turned and disappeared through the vestibule.
“I guess so! I guess so!” exclaimed Sam, abashed, and a flush of mortification overspread his face.
“Do you like auntie, Sam?” abruptly questioned the child.
She had softly stolen to his side, unperceived, and her voice sounded so close as to startle him.
“Ea, ah!—well, I should think so,” he unconsciously muttered.
“Mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe, who could ill repress a smile—“Dorothy, dear! I think the robins are calling for you out in the sunshine.”
“Come, little one,” said Sam, glad of an opportunity to escape from an awkward position. “And while you are listening to the feathered songsters, I’ll keep a sharp lookout for the fair party you call auntie. Come,” and he took the child’s hand and the two ran down the steps. Darting around the corner, they almost collided with John Thorpe and Mrs. Harris, who were approaching to join the company on the piazza.
“Ha—democratic Hazel in the role of ‘noblesse oblige,’ is something new—congratulations, my lord, on the conquest!” said Mrs. Harris.