“Wilfred has been so sheltered!” put in Aunt Fanny.
Wilfred listened woodenly. A screech of laughter sounded through him. Oh my Lord! they are on the way to make a hero of Joe!
“Very interesting. . . .” Aunt May repeated vaguely. “. . . Huh?” The presence of Wilfred forced her to look at Joe anew, and to ask herself what was to come of his being in the house. An unfortunate boy, and not to be blamed in any way; still . . . a great boy like that . . . almost a man . . .
An uncomfortable situation. Joe was master of it. He stood up, saying easily:
“I gotta go now. Malcolm’ll be lookin’ for me.”
A feeling of relief pervaded the other three. Joe, with eyes modestly cast down, waited for the ladies to invite him to call again. They felt strongly the suggestion to do so, but with Wilfred standing there, resisted it; and were glad that they had resisted it as soon as Joe was out. But all three inmates of the house knew by instinct that they had not seen the last of Joe. The sisters looked at each other with eyes eloquent of relief. Nevertheless, Aunt May said:
“A deserving boy, sister. . . . Huh? . . . We must do something for him.”
And Aunt Fanny answered: “Yes; and gifted with a strange power, May.”
It fell to Wilfred’s part to show Joe out of the front door. When they got out in the hall Wilfred’s heart was pounding, and he had a difficulty in getting his breath. Not for anything would he have looked at Joe; he knew without looking, how Joe’s hard, bright, all-knowing eyes were fixed on his face; and Joe’s thin protuberant upper lip was flattened in a zestful grin. As Wilfred stood holding the door open, Joe came so close to him that he could feel the warmth of his body, and stood there, trying to make Wilfred look at him. But Wilfred would not.
“Goin’ to take a walk to-night?” Joe murmured.