She laid the letter on Allan’s plate, and noted the little shock of surprise with which he found it there when he sat down to supper that evening.
“Hello; what’s this?” he asked, picking it up.
“It’s a letter come fer ye this mornin’,” answered Mary, and she and Jack and Mamie all waited for him to open it, which he did with a hand not wholly steady.
“‘Miss Elizabeth Heywood,’” he read, “‘requests the pleasure of Mr. Allan West’s company, Thursday evening, April 28th. Seven o’clock.’”
“Well, of all th’ forrerd minxes!” burst out Mary. “Why, when I was a girl, I’d a’ no more thought o’ writin’ a young man t’ come an’ see me—”
Jack interrupted her with a roar of laughter.
“Why, Mary,” he cried, “don’t ye see! It’s a party she’s askin’ him to—th’ sup’rintindint’s daughter!”
“A party! Th’ sup’rintindint’s daughter!” and Mary paused between jealousy for her boy and pride that he should have received such an invitation.
“An’ of course he’ll go,” added Jack, with decision. “It’s a shame t’ kape a foine felly like Allan shut up here with us old fogies.”
“Well, I’ll say this,” said Mary, pouring out the coffee, “if he does go, they won’t be no finer lookin’ young felly there.”