“Nonsense,” growled her brother, who had reached the tranquillity of his fireside pipe and hated to be disturbed.
“Yes; I promised father to be home at ten, and he will stay up for me,” Zelda answered brightly, and rose to go. She went up stairs for her wraps and was down at once. Leighton, who had gone to call Mrs. Forrest’s carriage, met her in the hall. Merriam had waited for his sister at the foot of the stairs and stood talking to her there.
Zelda was drawing on her gloves. Morris had never consciously watched this process before, and he followed her movements with the wonder that is always awakened in a young man by this sort of feminine legerdemain.
“I didn’t say anything about your singing—” began Morris.
“I noticed it!”
“But that was because I couldn’t. It was beautiful beyond any words of mine to tell you.”
He was speaking earnestly; he was a very earnest fellow, and his gray eyes were honest and friendly. It was always easy to laugh off the compliments of people who did not mean them; but he clearly was not of that kind.
“I’m glad you liked it,” she said simply. “What’s the name of that animal?” She indicated a great head that hung on the wall above them.
“That’s a moose-head. Your uncle has a fondness for the moose, and goes after one occasionally.”
“And gets it? I’m sure Uncle Rodney always gets what he goes for. That’s my opinion of him.”