“Clever fellow, clever fellow; one of the most promising of the younger men. I expect great things of him. Yes, lame, poor fellow! a terrible pity! Paralysis of the lower limbs, I hear. He can never be better, though I believe there is no reason why he should get worse. It’s a sad handicap to such a young man, and, of course, it gives a melancholy cast to his mind. It was kind of him to entertain you so nicely—very kind indeed.”
Hilary gave her head a little tilt of displeasure. Why should it be “kind” of Mr Rayner to talk to her? Father seemed to think she was a stupid little girl, on whom no grown-up person would care to waste their time; but Mr Rayner had not seemed at all bored by her conversation, and when some friends had tried to take him away, he had excused himself, and preferred to remain in the quiet corner.
When Tuesday came, and Mr Rayner arrived, Mr Bertrand was busy writing, and despatched his daughter to amuse his guest until he should have finished his letters. “Tell him I won’t be more than ten minutes; and he must excuse me, like a good fellow, for I am obliged to catch this post,” he said, and Hilary went into the long drawing-room, to find her new friend seated on the couch, with his crutches by his side. He was looking better than when she had seen him last, and had a mischievous smile on his face.
“Good morning, Miss Two Shoes!” he cried, and Hilary gave a little start of consternation.
“Oh, h–ush! They don’t know—I didn’t tell them. Miss Carr would never stop talking about it, and father would tease me to death. I only said that I had forgotten to put the slippers on coming home, which was quite true. It was rather awkward, for they belonged to Miss Carr. She insisted on lending them to me at the last moment. The servants would be surprised when they found them behind the curtains the next morning, wouldn’t they?”
“They would!” said Mr Rayner drily, and there was a peculiar smile upon his face which Hilary could not understand. “So they were not yours, after all. I thought the size seemed rather—excessive! I promise not to betray you if you would rather keep the secret, but if the story gave as much pleasure to your father as it has done to me, it seems rather selfish to keep it from him. I have had the heartiest laughs I have known for months past, thinking of the tragic incident of the scarlet slippers!”
“Please don’t!” said Hilary; but she laughed as she spoke, and so far from being offended, was quite thankful to hear that she had been the means of giving some amusement to the new friend. “I have been hearing all about you from father,” she continued, nodding her head at him cheerily. “He has promised to give me one of your books to read when we get back to Clearwater. Will you please write your name in my autograph book? I brought it downstairs on purpose. There are pens and ink on this little table.”
Mr Rayner smiled, but made no objections. He took a very long time over the signature, however, and when Hilary took up the book, she saw that each leg of the H ended in the shape of a dainty little shoe, so finely done that it would probably escape the notice of anyone who was not critically inclined.
“Too bad,” she cried laughingly; “I am afraid you are going to be as persistent as father in keeping up the joke.”
“They are the proper slippers, you observe—not the woollen atrocities,” replied Mr Rayner; and Hilary was still rejoicing in the discovery that he could be mischievous like other people, when the door opened, and her father came rushing into the room.