"Walk in!" invited Peter, throwing the door hospitably open; and Murray, his quick, curious eyes taking in everything at a glance, entered the small front room, which was just then unoccupied. He heard voices and laughter near at hand, but for the moment, while Peter went to summon his mother, he had time to look about him.
There was not very much in the room, and there was nothing of value, as that word was used in the Townsend house, yet the visitor could not help finding the place warmly attractive. There was a homelike look about it, and there was an indefinable air of refinement. The furniture was old and very nearly shabby, but it was not the cheap and tawdry furniture one might have expected to find in such a house. The pictures on the walls were all good copies of great pictures, or photographs set under glass. Piles of music lay on the old-fashioned square piano, and a few papers and magazines, all of good selection, were upon the table, in the centre of which burned a brilliant lamp. But most of all, the character of the household was shown by the books--as it inevitably is.
Of these there were a surprising number. Murray felt his respect for the Bell family rising immensely as he noted the contents of the rows of home-made book-shelves. They were in plain, worn bindings, most of them, quite unlike the stately rows in the great library at home; but they were the same old friends, in common clothes, and Murray rejoiced at the sight.
Peter was quickly back, bringing with him the lady whom Murray recognised as the mother of the family. She was a lady--no doubt of that. He had been sure of it before. Now, as he listened to her voice--the test incontrovertible--he knew beyond question.
She greeted him cordially. He was charmed with her face, with her manner, with everything about her. Then Peter brought all the others in, and Murray shook hands with them all. Shirley appeared, clinging to Nancy's hands, and Shirley was so happy, and begged so hard in his ear to stay a few minutes longer, that he willingly delayed their departure.
Fine fellows, Peter and Ross and Rufus proved to be on acquaintance. Not in the least overawed by the presence of the rich man's son from Worthington Square, they talked business and football and politics and various other things in those few minutes, in a hearty, half-boyish, decidedly manly fashion that he thoroughly enjoyed.
It happened that Murray said less to Jane than to any of the others, but he noticed her not a little. He thought he had never seen a girl who looked so spirited and sweet and gay and gentle all in one. He felt that his sister Olive must learn to know her at once, that she might learn what it is to be pretty without seeming aware of the fact, and how it is possible to make a stranger feel wholly at his ease without appearing to exercise any arts.
"I suppose I ought to be taking my sister home," Murray said at last, getting to his feet. "The truth is, she has wanted to know Miss Nancy since she first saw her, and so----"
"Murray wanted to know you, too," said Shirley, in Nancy's ear; but as her brother paused, the words were audible to everybody.
"To know me?" queried Nancy, in surprise, and everybody smiled.