"Mrs. Truscott's compliments," said the maid, smilingly, as she came tripping down the stairs. "The ladies are lying down, and would he please leave word. If it was anything important, of course Mrs. Truscott would come."
"Oh, no," said Gleason, loudly; "say I'll call this evening after retreat."
But when he came they were all on the piazza, Mrs. Stannard, too, and he knew that he could not be too careful what tidings or rumors he manufactured in her presence. Again, on the following morning, he presented himself with similar plea. This time the ladies begged to be excused.
"Will you say to Miss Sanford that I would greatly like to see her a few minutes?" he persisted. And then Miss Sanford came to head of the stairs,—no further.
"What is it, Mr. Gleason? I cannot come down," she said, very civilly, but uncompromising for all that.
"Er—I hoped you felt like—er—taking a walk or something."
"Thanks, Mr. Gleason. I am too busy to-day."
"Well, shall we say to-morrow, then?" he persevered.
"To-morrow I go riding with Mrs. Stannard."
"Do you? What time? Perhaps I can arrange to take a gallop at the same hour. You've never ridden with me yet." (Reproachfully.)