“Oh, you would.” The car came to a stop at Mrs. Vander Laan’s side gate.
“Yes, sir—you’ll excuse me, sir,” added Larry quickly. The gravity and thoughtfulness in the other’s tone seemed very like reproof. Then the groom sprang down from his seat and was off toward the house at a run.
He was breathless when he reached the servants’ entrance. But while he waited he recovered his breath instead of imparting his good news to the maid who welcomed him. Also (that same maid remarked upon it afterward), he twirled his hat constantly, refused to sit down, and kept wetting his lips as if he were nervous. Then—he was in the old-fashioned, dimly-lighted drawing-room, his hat revolving steadily and his tongue cloven to the roof of his mouth.
She came presently, sweeping through a door at the farther end of the long, high room. She was in pink—a cloudy pink that set off her loveliness marvelously. And as she advanced toward him Larry forgot to do anything but look.
“You wish to see me?” she asked.
“Y-Yes, Miss. You lost a purse this mornin’.”
“Yes.”
“I found it, Miss.”
She gave a cry of delight. “You found it! Oh, I’m so glad!”
Larry hung his hat between his knees, despite the fact that these were trembling. Then he held out a coat-lapel with one hand and reached into an inner pocket with the other. “Here, Miss,” he said proudly, and laid the purse upon the table beside which she stood; after that he recovered his hat.