“If you don’t go, what will she do?” and the old man looked at Zelda with a gleam of humor in his small gray eyes.
“Well, I have asked her to come to the farm.”
A smile crossed Ezra Dameron’s face.
“I am very glad you did. It would be a capital arrangement.”
“But she won’t come. She does not like that sort of thing. She likes to be where there’s something doing.”
“Yes, yes; a worldly woman; a very worldly woman,”—and Dameron wagged his head as he buttered his roll. He was silent for several minutes, and when he spoke it was in a tone of kindness.
“And so you are coming with me, Zelda? I had hoped you would. I have wished it so much that I have not pressed you to commit yourself. I knew that your aunt would be likely to offer something more attractive than a summer at The Beeches.”
“Yes, father; of course I shall go with you. I have never had any other intention.”
“You are very good to me, Zee. I am grateful to you for many things. An old man is very poor company for a young girl. I had feared that you might not be satisfied here. Your uncle and aunt have never treated me fairly. We have nothing in common. I am glad to find that they have not estranged you and me; the paternal relation is a very beautiful one; very beautiful.”
The black maid was changing their plates, and Zelda rested her arms on the edge of the table and looked at him with deep, searching eyes. She knew instantly when he passed from words that represented honest feeling to his more usual note of hypocrisy.