“Did she take the little one? But never mind telling me if there is a lingering doubt in your mind that I may not after all belong to the vicious lot who are after poor Ethel Gray’s child”—this with a queer twinkle in his eyes which made Marion laugh too.
“You look so exactly like Mrs. Abbott that I am sure of you.”
“Do I?” he said, pulling his heavy mustache thoughtfully.
“O, of course she has no mustache,” laughed Marion, “but the eyes—”
“And the gray hair? Yes, we are a pair of grizzled twins, and people generally think us much alike. But, Miss Marion, do you feel certain enough of me to tell me if the little girl has gone with my sister? I had hoped to find her here.”
“Mrs. Abbott did not like to leave her, but she took Candace to take care of her.”
“Then it seems to me that the burden of entertaining me for a day or two is likely to fall to your unhappy lot. What shall you do to amuse me?”
“I will show you which room you are to have and order a big pitcher of hot water sent right up. Mrs. Abbott asked me to if you came.”
“That will be very amusing. Thank you.”
“I like him so much,” Marion said to herself as she came up from the kitchen after giving orders for the hot water and suggesting that dinner should be served on one of the little tables used to stand dishes on instead of the long T-shaped table, which was a pleasant sight to see when teachers and scholars surrounded it, but would be doleful for two lone diners to contemplate.