“Three cheers for Goldendede, who can show us all a lesson in magnificent magnanimity.” Leslie was on her feet, her dark eyes beaming admiring affection of Miss Susanna.
The room rang with the happy sound of voices raised in honor of Miss Susanna’s kindly decision. Then they all took hands and indulged in a joyful little prance about the pleased old lady. Jonas, coming to the doorway all smiles was seized and whisked into the laughing, gyrating circle.
“Come and sing us a French song, Leslie,” coaxed Vera, a little later as the talk fell away from the all-important subject of the honor fund to drift into lighter, happier channels. As she spoke, Vera had begun to tow Leslie toward the library door.
In the music room Leila found herself sitting a little away from the piano, talking rather self-consciously to Peter Cairns.
“Leslie told me something you once said to her, Leila,” Peter Cairns said with his usual abruptness, “which amused me so much I must ask you about it.”
“What was that?” Leila inquired curiously.
“It was about that prospective bridegroom of yours, the old man with the white hair whom you might boss unmercifully.” The financier’s lips were smiling, but his dark eyes were fixed purposefully upon the Irish girl’s features.
“Ah, yes.” Leila could not repress an enjoying grin. “I have not yet found him.”
“I wish I had his qualifications to the dot. I haven’t. I’m not yet a snowy-haired monument to old age, but I have at least one of them, I am willing to be bossed unmercifully.”
Blue eyes met black squarely, a faint flush crept into Leila’s cheeks, then the ridiculousness of the conversation being borne upon them both they burst into laughter.