“Pardon me, Miss—er—Mildred,”—he did not say Mildewed this time,—“if I twist your words into another meaning, but if you—er—want a husband—do you think I would do?”
A head nestled on his shoulder, a little hand was in his, and when he passed the Farrington mansion neither he nor she knew it.
XXXIII
MY TRUTHFUL BURGLAR
I had an experience with a burglar night before last. My family are all away, and I have been living alone in the house, a detached villa in New Jersey, for upward of a month. Several burglaries have occurred in the vicinity.
Night before last I was awakened about four o’clock by a noise made by a clicking door, and opening my eyes, I saw a smooth-faced, determined-looking man at my bedside. I did not cry out, nor hide under the bedclothes, nor do any of the conventional things that one does when a burglar comes to him.
I looked at him calmly for a moment, and then I said, “How d’ do?”