"But I like those," exclaimed Ben; "I'm cutting them out for a scrap-book. I just wish I was with him!"
"And he would like to have you," returned Dele. "I don't believe he ever took so much of a fancy to any one as he did to you."
They talked books a little. No, Dele had not written any more stories. The old ladies took a good deal of her time. And she had been studying. She wished she were going to school again; she should appreciate it so much more. She was reading the English essayists and Wordsworth, and learning about the great men and women.
Ben walked out to the Bowery to put them in the stage; and Dele said, rather ruefully:—
"I just wish we could study and read together. I miss The. so much, I could always ask him questions; but now I have to look up everything myself, and it's slow work."
"Dele has quite a family on her hands," said John, when she had gone. "She's getting to be rather good-looking, too. Her eyes are very fine."
"But she doesn't grow much tidier," returned his mother.
"Her hair is curly and always looks tumbled," was the half-apologising rejoinder. "But she is very bright, and she'll do something with herself."
Mrs. Underhill glanced sharply at her son. There was no danger in Ben being a little soft about Delia Whitney; but she was surprised at John's commendation.
Doctor Joe walked down to see how his patient had stood the day. Her mother had been almost afraid to have her go, lest "something might happen." She was very tired, of course, and glad to take to the reclining chair with all the pillows; but her eyes were in a glow, and her cheeks a pretty pink that Mrs. Jasper was quite sure was undue excitement.