“Goodness, Tom! They’re wet. Positively dripping!”
“I lost my way coming over, and had to wade through a brook.”
“And I never noticed it until now. And I declare I haven’t given you a chance to get to your room yet. Pinck, why didn’t you remind me? Ring the bell, please. Tom, you must change your things right away.”
Alone in his room, Fessenden read the note delivered by the cadet of the house of Jones.
Dear Mr. Puddin’ Tame:
Shall we have it for a secret that you’re coming to supper at our house to-morrow? We aren’t quality folk, and maybe Mrs. Cresap wouldn’t like it. So please don’t breathe it to a soul, but just steal away, and come.
Betty.
III
Before luncheon the next day, Fessenden had begun to acquire some acquaintance with the members of the Sandywood house-party—a particular acquaintance with the celebrated Miss Yarnell. It did not take him long to perceive that Miss Yarnell and he had been provided for each other’s amusement. Harry Cleborne’s fatuous devotion to May Belle Cresap—Fessenden rather disliked the two-part Christian name—and the good-natured cliquishness of the four married people, threw upon him the duty of entertaining the unattached bachelor girl. He took up the burden with extraordinary cheerfulness.
Pinckney Cresap watched his progress, frankly interested. Once, indeed, he took occasion to compliment him.