The next day, immediately after lunch, as Annie and Leslie were both engaged over their respective tasks, a servant came up and knocked at the door. She brought in a card on a salver.
“A gentleman is downstairs, Miss Gilroy,” she said. “He wants to know if he can see you?”
Leslie took up the card and read the name: “Mr. Charles Parker.” She uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Annie, who was buried, not in her studies but in a novel, did not even look up; and Leslie, saying she would see the gentleman immediately, left the room.
She ran quickly downstairs to the common room, where her visitor was waiting for her.
“This is very kind of you, Mr. Parker,” she said, holding out her hand to him; “but I trust nothing is wrong at home?”
“Nothing whatever, young lady, and I am delighted to see you,” replied that individual, rubbing his hands and looking affectionately and yet with anxiety at Leslie.
“It was good of you to come to see me,” said Leslie, “and of course I am ever so pleased. When did you see mother last?”
“Three or four days ago. All the young ’uns are doing well, and your mother looks, if I may use the word, blooming. She is not working quite so hard. By the way, Miss Leslie, I have a great respect for that fine young brother of yours, Llewellyn; he has the right stuff in him. I am only biding my time to give him a leg up.”
“But I don’t think Llewellyn means to take a leg up, as you call it, from anyone; he is very independent, Mr. Parker.”
“Aye, aye; but there are ways and means of helping an honest lad, and I am not the one to shirk my duty. But now, Miss Leslie, I have come down here because I am a little alarmed with regard to you.”