“No.”
“Humph!” he ruminated. “I should think all the housemaids would be knowing him by this time. He’s the handsome one! But perhaps with all your time taken up in the kitchen——”
For that he received a sounding thwack on the side of the face.
“Holy Michael!” he started back. “If it isn’t my mother’s old fraternity grip you’re giving me! Shake hands! I didn’t know you were Irish till that minute. Shake hands with a compatriot, and forgive me for taking you for aught save a princess. Of course I knew who you were all the while. It’s the handsome Miss Wells that Mr. Dick’s so full of, the heiress; only he should have said a word about the glory of your hair. Never a word he said.”
“Who is this Mr. Dick?” she asked as they walked up the steps.
“How can I know till I have a chat with him?” he returned. “Our stories must agree, you know.”
“Are you sure his name is Dick?”
“Well, now,” he stopped and pondered, “now that you’ve put the doubt in my head, I’m not so sure. I’ve lost the letter that tells me all about it. I think he said his name was Mr. Dick. Sure, it was. Dick? Of course it was Dick. What do you mean by confusing my mind over the name of my oldest and dearest friend?”
“And what might your name be?”
They had arrived at the house.