"One brother who is at his grandfather's," Levis answered for her. "Lanfair, it is doubtless difficult for an observer to realize that you and I were in school together."
"In school together!" Hilda looked from one to the other. "Impossible!"
Stephen halted suddenly. He had been moving about restlessly, now picking up one of Ellen's books, now reading the titles on Levis's shelves. He was at once glad and ashamed to have found Levis. But he should have come alone, he should not have brought Hilda. He stood close to Levis, his tightly closed hand thrust into the pocket of his coat.
"Levis was an instructor and a Senior at once, and I was a Sophomore," he explained. "He left school and married and I continued to study. I didn't begin to practice till he was well settled in life." He turned his head and looked at Levis, and from eye to eye a message flashed. In Stephen's there was regret and a childlike desire to be restored to the good graces of an older person.
Levis returned the glance steadily and with the same expression with which he looked at Ellen, as though Stephen needed, as Ellen needed, love and care. She saw the exchange and curiosity and admiration quickened. She glanced at Hilda who was taking in from under half-lowered eyelids the old sofa, the little table, and the doctor's medicine cupboards. Her stare made Ellen determine to examine carefully all these articles of furniture. Had the never-failing broom of Mrs. Sassaman left lint, or had her own dust-cloth touched them too lightly?
A restless step brought Stephen to her little table.
"Are these your books?"
Ellen explained her course of study. His bright eyes were kind; she looked frankly into them and smiled while she talked.
"I'm going to college in the fall. I can hardly wait."
Levis, after a second's reflection about the present temper of Mrs. Sassaman, spoke to Hilda.