Dick stood still on the path and groaned. "Biggs!" he muttered in despair.
Nothing directs attention to the face so surely as the voice. There was such utter weariness in this one word that Fanny glanced keenly at her brother, saw the dulness of his eyes, read for apathy agony, and knew that instant that there had been a cruel crisis in his affair with Alice Bristo.
Instead of betraying her insight, she went quickly to him with a bright smile, laid her hand on his arm, and said:
"His name is not Biggs, Dick dear. It is—but you will be very glad to see him! Come in at once."
A flash of interest lit up Dick's clouded face; he followed Fanny into the hall, and there, darkening the nearest doorway, stood a burly figure. The light of the room being behind this man, Dick could not at once distinguish his features. While he hesitated, a well-remembered falsetto asked if he had forgotten his old mate. Then Dick sprang forward with outstretched hand.
"Dear old Jack, as I live!"
"Dear old humbug! Let me tell you you've done your level best to miss me. An hour and a half have I been here, a nuisance to these ladies—"
"No, no, Dick; Mr. Flint has done nothing but entertain us," put in Mrs. Edmonstone.
"A charitable version," said Flint, bowing clumsily. "But I tell you, my boy, in half-an-hour my train goes."
"Don't delude yourself," said Dick; "you won't get off so easily to-night, let alone half-an-hour."