But Uncle Ike was off, and returned in a few moments leading Alice. Quincy placed a chair for her before the fire. This cold wintry day she wore a morning dress of a shade of red which, despite its bright color, seemed to harmonize with the golden hair and to take the place of the sun, which was not there to light it up.
"If Miss Pettengill prefers," said Quincy, "I can make myself comfortable in the dining-room, and she can have my room to herself."
He had started this speech to Uncle Ike, who left the room abruptly in the middle of it, and Quincy's closing words fell on Alice's ears alone.
"Why, certainly not," said Alice; "sit down, Mr. Sawyer, and we will talk about something. Don't you think it is terrible?" As Quincy was contemplating his fair visitor, he could hardly be expected to say "yes" to her question. "Perhaps you enjoy it?" said she.
"I certainly do," answered Quincy, throwing his whole heart into his eyes.
"Well, I must differ with you," said Alice. "I never did like snow."
"Oh, you were talking about the weather!" remarked Quincy.
"Why, yes," said Alice. "What else did you think I was talking about?"
Quincy, cool and self-possessed as he invariably was, was a trifle embarrassed.