"What tint—Mr. Lloyd?" she asked.
"Alice blue," he replied, quite solemnly, and Ruth's suppressed laughter burst out uncontrollably at the idea.
His eyes had a suggestion of reproach, as he looked at her, but Lucia's face was grave, deeply flushed, pondering, pained.
"Hard life, to be a freak," Lloyd said; then as if for tabulation of correspondence by Mr. Dalton—"One dozen pink sandals for flying lydy. She has so much trouble presenting fresh soles to the public, and dingy ones show so."
"And now, your grand relative, Thomas Lloyd, Esquire."
"Do you visit him in Glaston?" the habitué of Glaston asked with an added infusion of respect.
"No, sir!" said the ex-showman, with his first touch of stiffness. "He visits me at my house."
"Mr. Thomas Lloyd wrote to request the honour of a visit, and I brought the letter," said Mr. Dalton; he still had the air of exploiting a case and marshalling his points, one by one, before a judge or a jury. "It seemed an agreeable arrangement to me, but Mr. Lloyd saw the matter in a different light. He is a man equipped for tours de force, and he seemed to think it best to make the mountain come to Mahomet. So we telegraphed his refusal and his counter invitation last night, and received a long distance telephone of acceptance this morning. Now Mr. Lloyd writes to name the day. It seems he is not leaving New Helvetia immediately."
"I hope you don't inconvenience yourself on my account—our little contract," said Frank, with solicitude.
Lloyd showed sudden embarrassment.