"I—I cannot tell you," she replied, dropping her head.
"O, but you must," said he. "You haven't stolen anything?"
"Perhaps," she smiled archly.
"Seriously, now little jade, forget that I have reminded you that you are grown up, for you are not. Just think of me as the old umbrella man of your barefoot years. I—"
"Of my barefoot years?" she exclaimed. "What do you know—"
"Of the years, my dear," he explained, "when you used to run barelegged and barefoot along the dusty road pleading to go gipsying with me. Do you remember?"
"That's part of why I'm here, Jean François," she said.
"Nance, Nance, Nance," he repeated, slightly exasperated, "go right along and tell me why you have left Oldmeadow, Doctor Longstreet, and—and the practise of medicine, and dropped like a lost star into my top-o'-the-morning?"
"Charles," said she tearfully.
"Ah, I thought so.... What has he done? Eloped with your Aunt Barbara?... Tell me, tell me!"