Her father met her at the door with an exclamation about her early hours. He would really see something of her, he said, if she kept up this sort of thing. It would be too good to be true if he could breakfast with her every morning. Whereupon he rang for the coffee and unfolded his newspaper. Lydia did not notice his absorption in the news of the day, partly because she was trained from childhood up to consider reading the newspaper as the main occupation of a man at home, but more because on this occasion she was herself preoccupied. When Mrs. Mortimer came in on an errand and was prevailed upon to sit down for some breakfast with her father and sister, there was a little more conversation.
Mrs. Emery had not come down stairs. A slight indisposition which she had felt for several days seemed to have been augmented by the excitement of Lydia’s return. She had slept badly, and was quite uncomfortable, she told her husband, and thought she would stay in bed and send for Dr. Melton. It seemed foolish, she apologized, but now that Lydia was back, she wanted to be on the safe side and lose no time. After these facts had been communicated to her older daughter, Mrs. Mortimer asked, “How in the world does it happen that you’re up at this hour?”
Lydia answered that she had been inspecting the yard, which she had not seen the day before. She described quite elaborately her tour of investigation, without any mention of her encounter with her early caller, and only after a pause added carelessly, “Who do you suppose came along but that Mr. Rankin you were all talking about yesterday?”
Judge Emery laid down his paper. “What under the sun was he prowling about for at that hour?”
“He wasn’t prowling,” said Lydia. “He was fairly tearing along past the house so fast that he ’most ran over me before I saw him. I’d forgotten he is so handsome.”
“Handsome!” Mrs. Mortimer cried out at the idea. “With that beard!”
“I like beards, sometimes,” said Lydia.
“It makes a man look like a barbarian. I’d as soon wear a nose-ring as have Ralph wear a beard.”
“Why, everybody who is anybody in Europe wears a beard, or a mustache, anyhow,” opposed Lydia. “I got to liking to see them.”
“Oh, of course if they do it in Europe, we provincial stay-at-homes haven’t a word to say.” Mrs. Mortimer had invented a peculiar tone which she reserved for speeches like this, the neutrality of which gave a sharper edge to the words.