He smiled on Joan—he did it very naturally these days. The girl was becoming strangely dear and companionable; then he looked at Doris as he always did, eagerly, gratefully.
"Jump into your coat and hat," he said to her with a ring in his voice; "I've just had a telegram. Bud's coming!"
"Oh! David," Doris's face flushed rosily. "And you want me to go with you to meet him. I am glad."
"Yes," Martin replied. Doris was already on her way from the room. Joan dropped to the hearth and resumed her rubbing.
So the inevitable was upon her! She must not flinch! She wondered if this was the last dropped stitch she must take up?
"Want me to go, too, Uncle David?" she asked, keeping her back rigid.
"No," Martin was regarding the straight set shoulders and the pretty cropped hair. "No! You have too shocking an effect upon young men. They look as if they had seen you before! They must take you gradually." Martin laughed and lighted a cigar. He was recalling Raymond's face the night Joan had first appeared before him.
Joan struggled to keep control of the situation—she suddenly smeared her face with her sooty fingers and turned with a grimace.
"Am I discovered even in this disguise?" she said. Then:
"Uncle Davey, I believe you have your private opinion of me still."