“He’s very young to be an uncle,” declared Leighton. “He’s really the youngest man we have. If you’re the long-exiled niece, I must confess my amazement, Miss Dameron. I had the impression that you weren’t grown up.”
“That wasn’t fair, Uncle Rodney. You ought to have prepared the way for me better than that.”
“You’ll do very well for yourself. I’ll walk down with you when you go, Morris.”
Merriam moved away through the crowd, followed by his sister, who wished to get him aside to question him. She had planned that her brother should now share her responsibility; she saw that he liked the girl; but this would not serve unless she caught him with his guard still down and compelled him to admit it.
“You know Uncle Rodney very well, don’t you?” said Zelda to Leighton. “It must be very well, because I’ve already heard that; so I may grow jealous. I’d forgotten he was so splendid. He was always my hero, though. When I was a little girl I used to sit on a trunk in his garret and watch him fence with a German fencing master. It was great fun. Uncle Rodney was much better than the master, and I applauded all his good points.”
“The applause was certainly worth working for. I sometimes fence with Mr. Merriam myself. I assure you that his hand and eye have not lost their cunning. But we lack spectators!”
“I’m too big for the trunk now, so you’ll have to get along. Is that all you do,—play at fighting?”
“No; when my adversary gets tired, he talks to me.”
“Oh! he’s tired, then, before the conversation begins. Perhaps it’s safer—that way!”
She hesitated before speaking the last words of her sentences with an effect that was amusing.