He stood on the door-sill looking in.
CHAPTER V
"I've done it again!" came from the doorway repentantly, "but this time I knocked, honest to goodness. Regular bangs! You ought to have heard," his tone assuming an injured cadence.
Miss Theodosia had recovered herself. She was unfeignedly glad to see him this time.
"Maybe it was you, steam-whistling," she laughed. "I heard that! Oh, I am glad enough you came this time! You've saved me from a trip to Rome—tea is so much less expensive! I'll go and get it." She was off directly and back again in remarkably quick time with her little kettle and lamp. "Less time and fuss, too. See how little baggage! Now, Rome—"
"Don't mention Rome!" There was a deep note in John Bradford's voice. He watched her making the tea. Miss Theodosia's hands were worth watching.
"Speaking of steam whistles reminds me of ears," he said.
"Naturally! The two go together, all right!" But she saw that his face remained grave. "Oh!—you mean the steam-whistler's ears—I see."
"Yes, I have examined them rather carefully. They aren't hopeless little ears—not hopeless. I'm not ready to go any farther than that yet. But I intend—you see, I specialized in ears and a few other things at the University—in practice, too, before—before I reformed."
Quickly Miss Theodosia looked up.