“It had to be something new, sir; our neighbor,” Boyd glanced towards Blue Bonnet, “insisted upon that. I think we more than fulfilled expectations. But it was certainly impromptu. Wasn’t it, old chap?” he smiled good-naturedly at Alec.
“Rather,” Alec answered, dryly.
“Well! Well!” the General said. And Blue Bonnet felt that he was giving credit for the idea, where credit was not due; and that Boyd had meant him to.
“One would think——” she began.
Alec looked up quickly. “Have you any strength left for thinking?”
“Attention!” Boyd commanded. “General Trent has the floor. He is going to tell us a story.”
The General looked gratified, though he protested that his stories were all old. He liked to tell of those early days of his at West Point; but he had got out of the habit of speaking of them to Alec; he didn’t want the boy to feel how disappointed he was that he was not to be a West Pointer, too. Lately, however, since Boyd’s coming, he had been led more than once to draw upon his memories of cadet life. Boyd had suddenly decided that he should like to take his chance at being “General Trent” some day. “Someone ought to keep the old name up in the old line,” he explained to Alec, “and since it doesn’t appear to be your line, I may as well make it mine.”
And he listened, really interested now, to the stories his grandfather told, taking care not to hide his interest; conscious, as the General was, that Alec had drawn a little back from the circle of light thrown by the fire.
Blue Bonnet noticed it too, and forgot to listen with this new feeling of indignant sympathy crowding out all other ideas except the fear that Alec had overtired himself on her account. He had managed not to take too active a share in the afternoon’s merrymaking; all the same, she was afraid that it had proved rather too vigorous an affair for him.
“I don’t believe we will do it every week,” she said as they crossed the lawn together; “it might not be such fun again—second times are a bit risky—and I don’t want to spoil the thought of this.”