To everybody's regret the call was waiting, and as the party went in to supper they waved their hands at the Green Imp flying away down the road. It was not till long after the “ice-cool, salad-y supper” was ended and the women, freshly clad, were sitting on the porch again, the men smoking on the steps below them, that tine Green Imp came back.
Ten minutes later a large figure crossed the lawn at a pace which suggested both reluctance and fatigue.
“If it hadn't been for that beefsteak—” Burns began.
“You wouldn't have come,” finished Macauley. “Oh, we know that! Go in and get it, Red, and perhaps afterward the charms of human society will have their inning.”
Whether or not the beefsteak made the difference, a change had taken place when R. P. Burns at length returned to the comforts of the porch. He threw himself upon a crimson cushion on the upper step, precisely at the feet, as it chanced, of Ellen Lessing. As he leaned comfortably back against the porch pillar he looked directly up into her face, his eyes meeting hers with an odd, searching expression as if he now saw her for the first time. Pauline, gazing enviously across, saw the black eyes meet the hazel ones in the dim light, and noted that a curiously long look was exchanged—the sort of look which denotes that two people are observing each other closely, without attempt at producing an impression, only at discovering what is there.
But when Burns began to talk he appeared to address the midsummer night air, staring off into it and speaking rather low, so that they all leaned forward to listen. For, at last, he seemed to have something other than motor cars upon his mind.
“He's a mighty taking little chap,” he said musingly. “Curly black hair, eyes like coals—with a fringe around 'em like a hedge. Cheeks none too round—but milk and eggs and good red steaks will take care of that. A body like a cherubs—when it's filled out a bit.”
“What in the name of gibberish are you giving as, Red?” inquired Macauley.
“Name's Bob,” went on Red Pepper. “By all the odd chances! That's what decided me. 'Bobby Burns'—it was the last straw!”
“Is he crazy?” asked Chester of the company. They seemed undecided. They were listening closely.