Bess glanced at him, but looked away again, hastily. There was something in his steady, smiling gaze that confused her. He did not look much like his sister. She was little, and he was tall. Her hair was reddish, and his was black. He had the same wide, good-humored smile, but somehow it was different.
“It’s getting dark,” he said, “and it’s cold. You’d better run home.”
Bess might have felt a little annoyed by his rather masterful manner, if she had not noticed, as he moved to pick up a book, that he walked with a limp; but that disarmed her. She liked him; she liked all of them; there was something charming and a little pathetic about them.
“Won’t you all come in and have a cup of tea with us first?” she asked, strictly upon impulse.
“My dear!” cried Miss Smith. “How kind of you! We will!”
And they all followed her to the house, leaving the hapless car just where it was.
Bess knocked upon the door, to warn her father. He opened it with the distressed air of a disturbed hermit.
“Father,” said Bess, “these are our new neighbors. Miss Smith, my father, Professor Gayle.”
Miss Smith held out her hand, and the professor took it. She presented her cousin and her brother, and they all shook hands gravely.
“But how cozy!” she exclaimed, looking about her.