“And what is her name?”
“His name is Horatio. I never liked it very well; it seemed too long for a 258 baby. But, do you know?—I think I shall like it better now.”
She was still kneeling before him, with her small gloved hands clasped on his knee. It was clear that she had not the faintest idea of being refused. Yet even had she been somewhat less confident, she might well have taken heart of hope, for, at this point, he gently laid his wrinkled hand upon hers.
“You will come to dinner?” she begged, apparently quite unconscious of the little caress. “We dine at five on Thanksgiving day, and you and I can walk over together. They will all be so surprised,—and so happy!”
“Then they are not expecting me?” and the old man gave her a very piercing look, which did not seem to pierce at all.
“No; they didn’t know who it was to be. I only said it was a very important personage.”
“Coming in a bag!” he suggested.
“Oh, that’s only a sportsman’s expression!”
“Indeed! And is it customary nowadays 259 to go a-hunting for your Thanksgiving dinner?”
Di’s eyes danced. This was indeed a grandfather worth waiting for! But she only answered demurely: