“So do I!” he agreed, so forcefully that she could but smile a little, gratefully. She said, with just the faintest suggestion of color in her white cheeks:
“Where is everybody? Have you been sitting with me long?”
“Mrs. White is getting breakfast, and I haven’t been sitting with you as long as I wish I had,” he answered, boldly; and then added, regretfully, “Dick was the man who had the luck to watch over you all night. I went to sleep.”
“You were so tired,” she said, sympathizingly. “And besides, I didn’t need anything.”
“It is good of you to put it that way,” he said, his heart cutting capers again.
“Mr. Gordon is the best man I know,” she said, thoughtfully.
“There you are right, Miss Williston,” he assented, heartily, despite a quick little sting of jealousy. “He is the best man I know. I wish you would shake hands on that—will you?”
“Surely.”
He held the smooth brown hand in his firmly with no thought of letting it go—yet.
“I am not such a bad chap myself, you know, Miss Williston,” he jested, his bold eyes flashing a challenge.