“I think he thought there was a chance, Aunt Lizzie,” Robert returned, but he said it faintly.
“You can't cheat me,” replied Mrs. Lloyd. “I know.” She had a lapse from pain, and her features began to assume their natural expression. She looked at him almost smiling, and as if she turned her back upon her own misery. “Where have you been, Robert?” she asked.
Robert colored a little, but he answered directly enough. “I have been to make a call on Miss Brewster,” he said.
“You don't go there very often,” said Mrs. Lloyd.
“No, not very often.”
“She's a beautiful girl, as beautiful a girl as I ever laid eyes on, if she does work in the shop,” said Mrs. Lloyd, “and she's a good girl, too; I know she is. She was the sweetest little thing when she was a child, and she 'ain't altered a mite!” Then Mrs. Lloyd looked with a sort of wistful curiosity at Robert.
“I think it is all true, what you say, Aunt Lizzie,” replied Robert.
Mrs. Lloyd continued to look at him with that wistful scrutiny.
“Robert,” she began, then she hesitated.
“What, Aunt Lizzie?”