“She raved about you,” said Constance. “She is a great admirer of yours. Did you know it?”
“I know she likes me,” George answered coolly. “Her mother is a very old friend of mine and has been very kind to me. She saw that I was worn out with work, and insisted upon my spending the summer with them, as Sherry Trimm is abroad and they had no man in the house. So Mamie came over here to sing my praises, did she?”
“Yes, and she sang them very well. She is so enthusiastic—it is a pleasure to listen to her.”
“I should think you would find that sort of thing rather fatiguing,” said George with a smile.
“Strange to say I did not. I could bear a great deal of it without being in the least tired. But, as I told you, I was surprised by her visit. Do you know what I thought? I thought that you had made her come and be nice, because you had seen that I had been annoyed when we were over there. It would have been so like you.”
“Would it? If I had done what you suppose, I would not tell you and I am very glad she came. I wish you knew each other better, and liked each other.”
“We can, if you would be glad,” said Constance. “I could go over there and ask her here, and see a great deal of her, and I could make her like me. I will if you wish it.”
“Why should I put you to so much trouble, for a matter of so little importance?”
“It would be a pleasure to do anything for you,” answered the young girl simply. “I wish I might.”
George looked at her gravely and saw that she was very much in earnest. The readiness with which she offered to put herself to any amount of inconvenience at the slightest hint from him, proved she was looking out for some occasion of proving her friendship.