"Yes; and—"
"And Dorothy Parkman," broke in the girl with a haste so precipitate as to make her almost choke.
"Miss Parkman?" Once again, for a moment, Keith's face lighted as with
a flame. "Come up. Come around on the south side," he cried eagerly.
"I've been sunning myself there. You'd think it was May instead of
March."
"No, she can't go and sun herself with you," interposed Daniel Burton with mock severity. "She's coming with me into the house. I want to show her something."
"Well, I—I like that," retorted the youth. He spoke jauntily, and gave a short little laugh. But the light had died from his face and a slow red had crept to his forehead.
"Well, she can't. She's coming with me," reiterated the man. "Now run back to your sun bath. If you're good maybe we'll be out pretty soon," he laughed back at his son, as he opened the house door for his guest. "That's right—you didn't want him to know, yet, did you?" he added, looking a bit anxiously into the girl's somewhat flushed face as he closed the hall door.
"Quite right. No, I don't want him to know yet. There's so much to be done to get started, and he'd want to help. And he couldn't help about that part; and't would only fret him and make him unhappy."
"My idea exactly," nodded the man. "When we get the room, and the goods there, we'll want to tell him then."
"Of course, you'll tell him then," cried the girl.
"Yes, indeed, of course we will!" exclaimed the man, very evidently not noticing the change in the pronoun. "Now, if you'll wait a minute I'll get that letter, then we'll go out to Keith on the piazza."