"Yes, Stella, I am back," he said; there was a sad weariness in his voice, and he looked haggard and tired. "And"—he hesitated, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder—"I have brought someone with me. This—is Frank," he hesitated again, "my son."
Stella suppressed a start, and smiled up at him as if the announcement were one of the most natural.
"I am so glad," she whispered.
He nodded.
"Yes, yes," and his gaze wandered to the face of the boy who stood looking at them with a little faint smile, half timid, half uneasy. "Frank has come to stop with us for a time. He is going to the university."
"Yes," said Stella, again. She felt that there was some mystery, felt that the boy was connected in some way with that telegram and the hurried visit to town, and with her characteristic gentleness and tact hastened to smooth matters. "I'll go and see if Mrs. Penfold has made proper arrangements," she said.
Mr. Etheridge looked after her as she went into the house; the boy's voice startled him.
"How beautiful she is!" he murmured, a faint flush on his cheek, a light of boyish admiration in his eyes. "I didn't know I had such a beautiful cousin, so——"
"No," said the old man, warmly. "Go on, Frank. Wait."