On one of these occasions he threw away his cigar, and took a seat by Jennie. She looked up from a trifle of sewing in her hand, and then, with a deep blush, let her glance fall to the rich velvet carpet.
Mr. Vinton looked at her admiringly. Mrs. Bowers had presented her with a fine dark-blue cashmere dress, and with soft, white laces at throat and wrists, and a few bright-colored ribbons, the little country girl looked quite the lady. Leon Vinton confessed to himself that she was wonderfully pretty in her new surroundings. They suited her beauty much better than the homely, humble farm-house had done.
"Jennie," he said abruptly, "do you know that the probationary month which your father allowed you with us is at an end to-day?"
She started, and looked at him, the pretty pink color fading from her cheeks, a look of alarm in her dark eyes.
"Yes, I know," she faltered, "and you—you're not pleased with me, and you're going to send me home to father, I suppose."
He smiled at the piteous quiver in the girl's voice.
"I'll send you if you want to go," he said, laughing.
"I don't want to go. I like to stay here with—with your sister," she answered, quickly.
"Well, I don't blame you," he said. "This kind of life is better suited to you than that. You're too pretty and dainty, by George, to be working around in people's kitchens!"
She did not answer, save by a blush and a smile of gratified vanity.