“I’m not very presentable,” he said. “But, as I can’t seem to get out without being seen, I guess you’ll have to make the best of me.”
Grace Kendall’s eyes were merry and pleasant.
“Please don’t mind us,” she said. “You look very nice. You look as if you had been playing tennis.”
“Nothing so interesting as that,” said Carey. “Just plain work. We’re still tinkering around this house, getting settled, you know.”
“There’s always such a lot to do when you move, isn’t there? But what a lovely spot you’ve made of it!” She turned, and looked about her. “Why, I shouldn’t know it was the same house. What a lot you have done to it! This room looks so big! How did you get the space? You’ve changed the partitions, haven’t you? I used to come here to visit a little lame boy, and it was such a tiny little front room; and now this is spacious! And that wonderful fireplace! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” put in Mr. Copley, as the whole group seemed absorbed in gazing about them at the lovely room. “My son did that. He built it all himself.”
Carey looked up in surprise, with a flush of pleasure at his father’s tone of pride; and then his eyes came back to the girl’s face all sparkling with eager admiration.
“You don’t mean you did it yourself? How perfectly wonderful! That darling mantel! and the way the chimney curves up to the ceiling! It has charming lines! O father, can’t you coax him to come over and build one for us?”
“Sure! I’ll build you one!” said Carey graciously, as though he kept stone fireplaces in his vest pocket. “Start tomorrow if you can get the stone.”
“Oh, great! Just hear that, father! We’re going to have a fireplace! Now, don’t you let him off. Did you design it, Mr. Copley?”