Letty nodded her head gravely.
“Of course you have enjoyed yourself. We are such an—ahem—agreeable family.”
“I should say so! And to get into a community where people won’t even talk about divorce—and where nobody chases the dollar very hard—and where the dear Colonel is considered a very practical man—pray excuse me, Miss Corbin, but I do think your grandfather the noblest old innocent!”
“I know it. Grandpapa is innocent. So is Aunt Jemima. I am the only worldling in the family.”
“My dear young friend,—for you must allow me to address you as a father after that astounding statement,—you are not, and never can be worldly minded. You are a very clever girl—but it is the wisdom of the dove, not of the serpent.”
“Very graceful indeed. I thank you. You have a pretty wit when you choose to exercise it. Now, good-by. I hope so much I shall, some time or other, see—your sisters—again.”
“Oh, hang my sisters! Don’t you want to see me again?”
“Y-y-yes. A little. A very little.” But while saying this, her hand softly returned Farebrother’s clasp.
It was still dark next morning, when Letty slipped out of bed and ran to the window, pulling aside the dimity curtains—she had heard the old carriage rattling up to the door. The moon had gone down, but the stars still shone in the blue black sky. Presently Farebrother came out, accompanied by the Colonel. Letty could hear their voices, and saw Farebrother take off his hat as he shook the Colonel’s hand. Then he sprang into the carriage. Tom Battercake gave the restless horses a cut with a long sapling with all the twigs cut off, and in two minutes the rig had disappeared around the turn in the lane. Letty crept back to bed, feeling as if something pleasant had suddenly dropped out of her life. She determined to go to sleep again, and to sleep as late as she could. There was no object in going down to breakfast early—only Sir Archy would be there. Then she began to think about Farebrother—and her last conscious thought was: “A man so hard to get must be worth having.”