They came up around the other side and saw the wharves and the idle shipping and the white-capped islands in the harbor. Now the wind did nearly blow you away.
The next day was very lowering and chilly. Uncle Winthrop had to go to a dinner among some notables. Miss Recompense always brushed his hair and tied the queue. Young men did not wear them, but some of the older people thought leaving them off was aping youthfulness. He put on his black velvet smallclothes, his silk stockings and low shoes with silver buckles, his flowered waistcoat, his high stock and fine French broadcloth coat. His shirt front had two full ruffles beautifully crimped. Miss Recompense did it with a penknife.
"You look just like a picture, Uncle Winthrop," Doris exclaimed admiringly. "Party clothes do make one handsomer. I suppose it isn't good for one to be handsome all the time."
"We should grow too vain," he answered smilingly, yet he did enjoy the honest praise.
"Perhaps if we were used to it all the time it would not seem so beautiful. It would get to be everyday-like, and you would not think about it."
True enough. He had a fancy Madam Royall did not think half so much about her apparel as some of the more strenuous people who referred continually to conscience.
"Good-by. Maybe you will be in bed when I come back."
"Oh, will you be gone that late?" She stood upon a stool and reached over to give him a parting kiss, if she could not see him until to-morrow, and she did not even touch his immaculate ruffles.
It was growing dusky, and Miss Recompense was in and out, and was in no hurry for candlelight herself. Doris sat in a kind of chaotic thinking. Someone came up the steps, stamped his feet quite too noisily for Cato,—even if he had returned so soon,—knocked at the door, and then opened it.
"Oh, Uncle Leverett!" and she sprang up.