“I had counted so much on Mrs. Bonnell's influence,” Eloise was saying. “What does mother mean? She knows my mind is made up as to Christian Science. What is she afraid of?”
Bonnell caught his thumbs in his coat pockets and lifted himself slightly on his toes. “She is afraid of me.”
“Of you?” The girl lifted surprised eyes to his and let them fall again, her grave face coloring.
“She has always been more or less afraid of me. I'm ineligible, you know.”
“Yes, you are, awfully, Nat,” returned Eloise earnestly. “That's what makes you so nice. Didn't we always have a good time together?”
“Yes, on those rare occasions when we had a chance, but Mrs. Evringham always suspected me. She never felt certain that I wasn't waiting for your skirts to be lengthened and your hair to go up in order to steal you.”
Eloise tried to look at him, but found it more comfortable to examine the inexpressive gravel path. “But now you have something to think of besides girls,” she said gently.
“Yes. Do you know, Eloise, if I had been promised the granting of one wish as I took the cars for Bel-Air, it would have been that I might find you convinced of the truth of Christian Science.”
She looked at him now brightly, gladly. “It is such a help to me to know that you are in it,” she returned. Their hands simultaneously went forth and clasped. “What shall we do about mother?”
He smiled. “That will all come right,” he returned confidently.