“Where’s mother?” he asked presently, pretending to ignore the excited flutter of the girl’s hands as she set a plate of bread on the table.
“She hasn’t come back from the village yet,” warbled Fanny. She couldn’t keep the joy in her soul from singing.
“Guess I’ll eat my supper and get out. I don’t want to hear a word of gossip.”
Fanny glanced up, faltered, then ran around the table and threw her arms about Jim’s neck.
“Oh, Jim!” she breathed, “you’ve seen him!”
“Worse luck!” grumbled Jim.
He held his sister off at arm’s length and gazed at her fixedly.
“What you see in that chap,” he murmured. “Well—”
“Oh, Jim, he’s wonderful!” cried Fanny, half laughing, half crying, and altogether lovely.
“I suppose you think so. But after the way he’s treated you— By George, Fan! I can’t see—”