“Papa and Fanny have gone for a call. Mamma is in the nursery.”
“O, I wanted only you.”
“Come down then.”
I brought an easy chair out on the porch, and dropped into my own small rocker. Tabby came along and crawled in my lap, turning round three times and settling herself regardless of the welfare of her small child, though I dare say she was asleep in some one’s slipper. The moon was nearly at its full and made silvery shadows through the interstices of the vines. The dewy air was fragrant and the night musical with chirp and hum of countless insects.
“It is quite a relief to be rid of Stuart,” he began presently. “And when I am gone you will doubtless feel still more comfortable.”
“I think you are quite comfortable to get on with now;” I said cheerfully.
“Which implies—there was a time. Miss Endicott, do you think I have improved any?”
“I do not know as it would be hardly fair to judge you by the first week or two. You were on the eve of a severe illness, with your nervous system completely disorganized.”
“But since then—be honest?”
“I think you have been pleasanter, more considerate, not so easily ruffled;” I answered slowly.