“Phœbe,” thought Jawn; “it is the daughter’s name; and I figured it was Geraldine. My memory is gone entirely.”
The greetings over, Mrs. Wells waited patiently for some explanation of the smiling visitor. Evidently, from the uproarious conversation she had interrupted, these two were well-enough acquainted.
“Who is—your—uh——?” Mrs. Wells helped.
“He’s not my anything,” retorted Phœbe. “I haven’t the least idea who he is; and he doesn’t seem to have clear ideas on the subject himself.”
“This is Mrs. Emma Wells?” Jawn was presenting a hand and his widest smile.
“Ye-s,” Mrs. Wells admitted, on her guard instantly. “If you came about mortgages or business you’ll have to see my daughter Geraldine. She is upstairs in her room. Shall I send for her?”
“Weren’t you expecting me?” Jawn asked.
“No-o; I think not.”
“But Mr. Dick said you had invited me to pay you a visit.”
“Mr. Dick? I don’t know any Mr. Dick, unless you mean Mr. Dickson? He lives across the Lake.”