“Perhaps I am,” getting a wistful far-away expression in her eyes that was tantalizing.
“Here we are,” said the man abruptly as they reached a semi-circular piazza where tables and chairs had been placed. “If you will sit down, Miss Dale, I’ll look up Mr. Bemis immediately.”
“Thank you,” demurely, “but if it should happen that you found the supper first, would you mind bringing that instead? I am so hungry,” with a pathetic droop at the corners of her mouth.
He went off on air, returning followed by a waiter almost before she had a chance to miss him.
And what a gay little supper that was! They had a small table quite to themselves, where Landor played host and was solicitous in providing for all her wants. Mr. Lennox, wandering about with an eye to his party, smiled across the piazza at her and reported to his wife that Hester was being well taken care of. Half unconsciously the girl herself was aware that her slightest wish was anticipated and she caught herself wondering as she played with her ice, whether it was chance or design that led Mr. Landor to avoid having any cake served at their table. It was everywhere else in abundance; hundreds of colored frosted cakes that seemed to Hester like so many little imps grinning at her and crying, “You made me—you made me!” This fantastic notion wrought itself into her tired brain until she wanted to scream out from very nervousness and caused Kenneth to say, as if divining her thoughts:
“You are tired, Miss Dale. I am afraid you had an anxious night of it. I hope your father is better this morning.”
“How did you know?”
“We—we missed you at the reception,” evasively, “and when Dr. Ware went off I had my suspicions.”
“It was not Daddy,” she said quietly, “it was—other things.” Then in a lighter tone, “Don’t look so solemn, please, I want to be gay and forget last night.”
“What would happen, Miss Dale, if I were to lecture you?” smiling at her.