“It’s all your work, Becky!”
A dozen times the face of Harry Thompson had beamed upon her, “Thanks to you, Becky!” And every look of the happy mother, as she moved among her guests, was a silent prayer of thankfulness to Becky.
It was a gay night for Cleverly; and when the door of the dining-room was thrown open, and the guests assembled about the tables,—whose crooked legs seemed ready to snap under their burdens of good cheer,—a night of feasting such as Cleverly had never before witnessed.
At this stage of the proceedings, Teddy, dazzled by the tempting array of edibles, quite forgot his gallantry, and slipping from Becky’s side, went in pursuit of a far-off frozen pudding. His place was quickly supplied by Harry Thompson.
“Well, pet, enjoying yourself, I hope.”
“Enjoying myself! Why, Harry, I never was so happy in all my life—never!”
“I have a message for you from a dear friend—Alice Parks.”
“Indeed! Have you heard from her lately?”
“Yes, I received a letter from her to-day; and it’s so full of praises of one Becky Sleeper, that I am really jealous.”
Becky made no reply. Somehow, she did not feel quite so happy now. It seemed to her that they were getting along very pleasantly, without having this young lady added to their company. He was jealous, too, of her evident fondness for the little girl she had befriended. He must be very much in love with her, then. She looked up, and met such a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, that she laughed aloud at her own folly.