“They are coming to spend a day with us this week, Alexina and her mother,” Mrs. Leroy here told her son, at which, for all the imperturbability of his countenance, Alexina was conscious of something a little less happy about the son.
“They’re very good to come,” he responded. The tone might be called guarded.
Certain recollections were crowding upon Alexina. Mrs. Leroy’s management, her housekeeping, even to a child’s comprehension, had been palpably erratic and unexpected.
The girl understood his masculine helplessness. Hers were the eyes that laughed now.
“I’ve set the table in your house before,” she informed him, “while you made toast.”
His countenance cleared. He met her gaze solemnly. “It’s a bargain,” he said. “What day, mother?”
That night Alexina was chatting with Mr. Jonas. She liked him. “You said this morning,” she reminded him, “that Mrs. Leroy was the wisest, foolishest mother—what did you mean?”
“Just that,” said Mr. Jonas. “Hasn’t her very incompetency made the boy?”