“Oh, Joan, papa wants you to——” began she.
Then she saw Bram, and stopped.
“I’ve brought the things, Miss Claire,” said he in a shy voice.
Miss Biron had stopped short and changed color. She now came forward slowly, and passing Joan, held open the door for him to enter.
“Oh, please come in,” she said in a very demure voice, from which it was impossible to tell whether she was pleased or annoyed, grateful or the reverse, for his good offices.
Bram entered, and proceeded to place his enormous parcel on the deal table, and to cut the string. He was passing through the refining process very rapidly; and, already, in the clothes which he had chosen under Chris Cornthwaite’s eye, he looked too dignified a person to engage in the duties of a light porter.
Claire, more demure than ever, spoke as if she was much shocked.
“Oh, have you carried that heavy parcel? Oh, I’m so sorry. It is very, very kind of you, but——”
She stopped, stammering a little. Joan, who was standing with her hands on her hips, admiring the scene, laughed scornfully.