“Oh, I’ve been quite upset.”
“You look it. Absolutely knocked down. Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Where’s Irving?”
“Mending a sail with Captain Salter. They were so disrespectful to me that I came home.”
“I’m very poor company, I’m afraid,” said the hostess languidly.
“But at least you appreciate me, Mrs. Bruce. You don’t hurt my feelings every second word you utter. Mayn’t I sit here by you,”—the speaker took a chair close to the divan,—“and rub your head, perhaps? My mother will tell you I’m a cracker-jack at it.”
Mrs. Bruce gave an inarticulate exclamation of dissent.
“I should expect you to rub my hair off,” she exclaimed faintly.
“It doesn’t look like that kind,” returned Robert innocently.