"She was a young, nice-looking aunt, too," he said, cheerfully. "And I was powerful fond of those two kiddies."
"The association of ideas might prove helpful," she suggested, with a touch of her old manner.
"That is what struck Elsie," he admitted. "She said she didn't know why I couldn't marry Aunt Louisa right off, and then we could all live together sociably."
"Oh! And what did the lady say?"
"She thought it was a great joke, until I said that unfortunately I had made other arrangements. Then she guessed her nieces had got a bit out of hand."
"Have you seen the poor fellow whose arm was broken? Enid has not had a moment to give me details of events since we landed."
From that point their conversation dealt with generalities. Soon the girl perceived his intent. His sole desire was to place her at her ease, to make her realize that no matter what troubles life held they could be vanquished if faced with a smile. She responded to his mood, and enlivened the drive with comments on the people they met and the houses and villages they passed. For two hours the world went well because it was forgotten.
Enid, the conspirator, waited until the pair in the dog-cart were out of sight. Then she went to the little room at the back of the cottage where Brand pretended to be busily engaged in compiling a scientific account of his auriscope.
"I am going out, dad," she said, trying to appear unconcerned.
"All right," he answered, laying down his pipe.