“Even that little girl,” he said, “could read my face and see the sort of fellow I am—honest as daylight, kind, simple—”
Not for the world would Mildred smile.
“I take only children as pupils,” she remarked.
“The sign doesn’t say so,” Dacier pointed out. “I noticed that sign when I was here before. Legally, I’m not so sure that you’d be allowed to discriminate against any person of good character who—”
“Did Mrs. Terhune send you?”
“No. She didn’t need to.”
“Then I’m sorry, but I’m very busy.”
“Miss Henaberry,” said Dacier firmly, “if I’m personally repulsive to you, of course I’ll go at once; but otherwise, why can’t I talk to you for a few minutes? I’m Mrs. Terhune’s nephew, Robert Dacier. I didn’t bring a certificate in my pocket, but I hope you’ll believe me without that.”
Now Dacier was not personally repulsive to Mildred—not in the least. She considered him somewhat presumptuous and overconfident, yet there was about him something that pleased her, something gallant and high-spirited and endearing.
“And he’s Mrs. Terhune’s nephew,” she thought. “I ought to be nice to him.”