“Why, Dick!” she said, as he approached—“Isn’t this rather a late visit?”
“Is it too late for you, Letty?” he asked gently—“If so, I’ll go away again.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” she said cheerily,—“Violet has gone to a dance, and I meant to sit up for her in my room, but now we’ll both sit up for her here. What a warm day it has been!—and it’s a warm night too—I’ll order you an iced sherry-cobbler.”
She rang a bell which communicated with the house, and gave her order to the servant who answered it—then pushed a comfortable chair forward. The Major sank into it with a deep sigh.
“That’s nice!” he said—“And I won’t say no to the sherry-cobbler. I’ve had a wearying day.”
“Have you? I am sorry!” and Miss Letty’s eyes were full of sympathy—“Is it about—about Violet?”
“Yes—it’s about Violet,” said the Major, and then became silent, meditatively tinkling with a spoon the lumps of ice in the sherry-cobbler which had just been set before him.
“But I don’t think you need worry about that,” began Miss Letty.
He interrupted her by a slight gesture.
“Ah, you dear woman! You don’t know! You are as sweetly ignorant of the ways of modern men as the ladies in the old-fashioned ‘Book of Beauty,’ who always wore their hair parted in the middle and went on smiling serenely at everything and everybody, even when their lives were ruined and their hearts broken. No, Letty! You don’t know! Has Violet told you?”