“I trust—I may hope—for a welcome—from you,” panted Mr. Parrish, who was not in such good walking form as Elizabeth.
But she pretended not to hear, and finally landed a very tired and perspiring ornithologist at the family luncheon table only three minutes late.
“And what did you think of William?” asked Mrs. Atterton earnestly.
“We never saw him. We lost our way in the wood,” said Elizabeth.
“Lost your way in Millsby wood!” began Bill, when a beseeching glance from his sister checked him, and he added good-naturedly: “Well, there are a lot of—er—rum turnings.”
Only about five minutes afterwards the bottled-in chuckle suddenly exploded.
“Bill,” said his mother—his father was away—“Bill, what are you laughing at?”
“Elizabeth’s bump of locality,” responded that youth.
“There is nothing amusing in that,” said Mrs. Atterton coldly.
“No, mother,” said Bill, with unusual meekness, and Mrs. Atterton could not think why her daughter turned so red. She hoped there was nothing going on between Elizabeth and the ornithologist, because he lived nearly all the year abroad, and she did want this home-girl of hers to remain near home.