But, hurry as Laura might, Justin was at the bow window when she returned, elbows on the sill, talking over the morning’s news with Gran’papa.
“Justin! Here already? I didn’t know.”
“Ai didn’t neu,” murmured Gran’papa abstractedly. He was annoyed at the interruption.
Laura flushed. She could not bear being criticized before Justin.
“I’m awfully sorry to be late,” she began.
“Awfully,” commented Gran’papa with interest. “Filled, that is to say, with awe——” Then, testily—“What is the matter now, my dear?”
“I’m awf—extremely sorry to bother you, Gran’papa,” said Laura patiently, “but you’re sitting on the lettuce.” Then to the maid crossing the hall—“Cook! Cook! Oh, Cook, you might bring me my basket, will you? I left it in the kitchen.”
“Her voice was ever soft,” confided Gran’papa to Justin as he reseated himself—“and gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman!”
Justin nodded.
“That always reminds me of Mother. All women squeak, it seems to me, except Mother. Laura’s not half so bad as some, though, except when she gets excited.” He smiled at her generously. “Hurry up, old thing! What an age you are!”