“One what?”
“Why, a relation, a sister, when we’ve got a brother. I wonder—”
Suddenly Nettie stopped, as a crash of wheels sounded on the frosty gravel, and the front-door bell pealed loudly.
“Oh, Jack!” and Nettie jumped off the cabinet at one bound, six feet high though it was, and caught hold of the end of Jack’s coat in a perfect agony of shyness. “Oh, let’s run away!”
“Let go. I can’t get down. Stand still and don’t be silly,” said Jack, gruffly, as he got off the steps, while the butler hurried forward and threw open the door. Nettie stood in the fire-light, her golden hair flying in the gust of wind, her hands together, like a wild thing at bay. Bob remained perched, half-way up the ladder, and Jack made a step or two forward.
A tall figure in a dark cloak, with bright crimson lining, and a large felt hat, stood in the doorway.
“Are you Cheriton?” he said eagerly, and with a strong foreign accent.
“No; he’s out. I’m Jack. How d’ye do? We didn’t know when you were coming,” said Jack, in a tone from which embarrassment took every shade of cordiality. He put out his hand quickly, however, as the stranger made a movement as if possibly intending a more tender salutation. Alvar took it, then removed his hat, and advancing towards the speechless Nettie said,—
“This is my sister? May I not salute her?” and lightly touched her cheek with his lips. “I have thought of you, my sister,” he said.
“Have you?” stammered Nettie, hanging down her head like a child. Bob remained motionless on his ladder, and Jack said,—