Doris had cherished some such idea herself an hour ago, and had not wondered at it then, but now her feelings seemed changed.
"Was it to see them you came to Marston?" said she.
"Merely to see them," he replied.
She was puzzled, but more eager than puzzled, so anxious was she to find some one who could control their eccentricities.
"They will treat you politely," she assured him. "They are peculiar girls, but they are always polite."
"I am afraid I shall not be satisfied with politeness," he insinuated. "I want them to love me, to confide in me. I want to be their friend in fact as I have so long been in fancy."
"You are some relative of theirs," she now asserted, "or you knew their father well or their mother."
"I wouldn't say no," he replied,—but to which of these three intimations, he evidently did not think it worth while to say.
"Then," she declared, "you are the man I want. Mr. Etheridge—that is the lawyer from New York who has lately been coming here—does not seem to have much confidence in himself or me. But you look as if you might do something or suggest something. I mean about getting the young ladies to give up their whims."
"Has this Mr.—Mr. Etheridge, did you call him?—been doing their business long?"