“With much ease, Mr. Trenton.”
Trenton lit a cigarette and smoked meditatively while Jerry noiselessly filled the wood box. Grace reappeared as Jerry stood awaiting further instructions.
“Oh, Grace, what time shall we say for breakfast?” Trenton asked casually.
“I must be at the store at eight-thirty,” she answered from the door.
“Then breakfast at seven? We’d better allow a little extra time in case the snow keeps up. Seven it is, Jerry.”
The boy left them and could be heard moving about upstairs. A clock struck ten and Trenton exclaimed at the hour.
“I’d have guessed it wasn’t more than eight! The hours do jump along when the heart’s light. Any difficulty about not going in?”
“No; not at all. Every one was out but father and I merely said I was at the house of a girl friend and would spend the night there.”
She walked to a table and began inspecting the books that were arranged upon it in careful order. It might have seemed that she wished to avoid meeting his eyes immediately. He hesitated a moment then crossed to her quickly.
“It’s always interesting to see what books you find in a country house,” he said. “But it’s a mistake to judge the owner by the literature you find lying about; it’s usually the discards of the guests. At the place where I caused so much disappointment by not dying——”