"That," she said quickly and a little anxiously for Mr. Higgins' ears, indicating the Patriarch, "that is my grand-uncle there, I am sure."
"Yes," said Madison, leading her toward the Patriarch. "And he has been looking forward very anxiously all day to your arrival—it seemed as though the afternoon would never come for him."
"Gee!" said Helena under her breath. "I had the rubes in the village on the run—you ought to have seen them stare as the chariot drove along."
"I don't wonder," said Madison softly. "The sun's rather strong down here, Helena, and if you're not careful you'll scorch your neck with those burning-glasses you've got in your ears."
"Don't I look nice?" demanded Helena, with a pout.
"You bet you do!" said Madison earnestly. "You've got the swellest thing on Broadway beaten from Forty-Second Street to the Battery. Now, here you are"—they had halted before the Patriarch.
The venerable face was turned toward them, as though by instinct the Patriarch knew that
they were there—and his hands were held out in greeting.
Helena clasped them firmly, and submitted sweetly as the Patriarch drew her into his arms.
The Patriarch released her after an instant, and his hands, in lieu of eyes, reaching out to search her face, came bewilderingly in contact with the picture hat.