“Mother,” said I, entering the darkened bedroom, “I just met the Colton girl and what do you suppose she told me?”
“That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the other night.”
“That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she was coming to call on you. On YOU, Mother!”
I don't know what answer I expected. I flung the announcement like a bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
“Did she?” observed Mother, placidly. “I am very glad. I have no doubt I shall like her.”
My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
“Well, by George!” I exclaimed, with emphasis. “Lute IS a philosopher, after all. I take off my hat to him.”
CHAPTER XI
I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week. Once, at the place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge of the bluff, and again walking up the Lane in company with her father. Once also on the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be called a meeting, for I was afoot and she and her father and mother were in the automobile.