“It will make me very happy; but I cannot realize it. It seems like a dream.”
At this moment Mrs. Mudge entered the room, and, after a moment's scrutiny, pretended to recognize Paul. Her husband followed close behind her.
“Can I believe my eyes?” she exclaimed. “Is this indeed Paul Prescott? I am very glad to see you back.”
“Only a visit, Mrs. Mudge,” said Paul, smiling.
“You'll stop to dinner, I hope?”
Paul thought of the soup and dry bread which he used to find so uninviting, and said that he should not have time to do so.
“We've thought of you often,” said Mr. Mudge, writhing his harsh features into a smile. “There's scarcely a day that we haven't spoken of you.”
“I ought to feel grateful for your remembrance,” said Paul, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “But I don't think, Mr. Mudge, you always thought so much of me.”
Mr. Mudge coughed in some embarrassment, and not thinking of anything in particular to say, said nothing.
“I am going to take from you another of your boarders,” said Paul. “Can you spare Aunt Lucy?”