Although the girl’s lips quivered warningly, Fessenden could have sworn her eyes laughed slyly. But the older woman’s vexation was effectually dissolved by the other’s pitiful tone.
“There, there! You poor silly baby! Come right in, and I’ll put your foot in hot water and mustard. That’ll take the soreness out.” She passed her arm lovingly about the girl’s slender shoulders and was leading her away without more ado. The girl hung back.
“Aunty, I haven’t thanked him—half.”
“I’m sure the gentleman’s been very good,” said Mrs. Landis, “but he knows your foot ought to be soaked in hot water just as soon as can be. There won’t be any too much time to do it before supper, any way.”
“By all means,” agreed Fessenden. “I’m very glad if I’ve been of service.” Mischief awoke in his glance. “I’ve had ample reward for anything I’ve been able to do.”
The blood crept into the girl’s cheeks, but she was not afraid to meet his eyes.
“Good-by,” he said with evident reluctance. “I hope your ankle will be well very soon.” The laughing imps in her eyes suddenly emboldened him. “May I come to-morrow evening to see how you’re getting on?”
“Of course—if you like. We’re through supper by half-past seven, and——”
“Supper?” he returned, and paused so pointedly that the girl laughed outright.
