Mr. Peyton smiled at the recollection of the small inky fingers which had been so ready with the pen. “You still love to dabble with ink, I hear,” he made answer, adding, “I cannot express the pleasure it has given me to see you again.” And when they took their leave shortly after, he held Persis’s hand fast, then bent with a grave grace and kissed her cheek. “You should have been my grand-daughter,” he said.
Both the girls were rather silent on the return drive, although Cousin Dolly chatted volubly and told them tales of the neighbors whose homes she pointed out. The moment they were in-doors Persis ran to her grandmother. “Oh, grandma,” she whispered, “how could you?”
“How could I what, my dear?”
“How could you not marry that dear, nice Cousin Ambrose Peyton?”
Mrs. Estabrook smiled a little sadly. “So you have jumped at that conclusion. Some day I will tell you; but you must not rake over old ashes just now. One of these days you shall hear all about it. How did you find Cousin Ambrose?”
“He is charming; but I don’t think he is in very good health. Cousin Dolly says he is not, and it seemed so to me; but oh, grandma, what a delightful old house it is! I did enjoy it so; and see what he gave me.” And she displayed the Venus.
“Mr. Peyton asked me such a lot of questions about you,” Annis told Persis; “what kind of a girl you were, and all about you.”
“And you told him a lot of stuff, no doubt. You made a perfect dime-novel heroine of me, I’ll venture to say.”
“I told him the truth,” insisted Annis. “I told him you were the dearest, truest, most unselfish girl in the world, and—and—oh, lots of things; and he was very much interested. You know there are some subjects upon which I can talk even if I am not usually a loquacious individual.”
“I know you are a dear old flatterer,” returned Persis, giving her a hug.