Bruce sprang to his feet as they approached. He read mischief in Robert’s eyes, and his own were unresponsive.
Robert nodded and grinned cheerfully at Rosalie before Irving could get possession of what Robert termed his uncle’s rubber ear. Then he said with a distinctness intended to awe and repress Nixie, “I have found an old friend, Mr. Derwent. A young lady whose home is where we go in summer. Let me present you to Miss Vincent.”
Robert reconstructed his countenance as well as he could, and Mr. Derwent’s face cleared as he raised his hat. “Mr. Nixon, Miss Vincent,” went on Irving severely.
“I have waited on these gentlemen,” said the girl, looking at Mr. Derwent.
“You deserted our stage this morning,” he answered, and deliberately dropped upon the grass beside Rosalie, while she explained, blushing, how she had been hurried on early because of the crowds.
“Pooh!” said Robert aside to Irving. “Old friend of yours?” He snapped his fingers. “Piffle! Likewise gammon. She’s fed us for two days.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” responded Irving stiffly. “Otherwise I couldn’t quite understand your greeting of her as you came up.”
Robert laughed unrestrainedly. “Just got off with my skin, eh?”
“She’s all alone out here,” said Irving, flushing under the sincerity of his friend’s merriment, but continuing to scowl.