“The deuce,” said Vickers. He thought for a moment that the Señor Don Papa and the lovely Rosita had found him out. “Is he old?” he asked.
“Yes,—middle-aged, or more.” Then seeing his obvious anxiety, Nellie went on quickly: “And so I thought, Bob, if it were anything very bad—I mean if you did not want to see him, that you might go on to Mr. Overton’s, and I would tell him you had gone away.”
“Tell a lie, Nellie?”
“Oh, don’t be stupid and irritating, Bob. My uncle has not been well lately. He could not bear anything more. It is of him I am thinking. It would be too terrible, if, if——”
“If they jugged me at last. Well, I don’t think that they will.”
His light-heartedness did not entirely relieve her mind, and at their own gate she stopped again.
“Do be careful. Think before you go in, Bob,” she said; and then, seeing him smiling, she added, “Oh, I almost wish you had never come back at all!”
“What!” he cried, “am I more trouble than the two hundred dollars a month is worth?”
“Yes,” she answered crossly.
“Perhaps if you will tell that to Emmons, he will raise my salary.”