“‘Miss Brewster!’” she repeated, with a saucy toss of her head, that set every spotless plume upon her hat nodding a playful reproof at her companion for his unprecedented formality; for they had known each other for years, and, hitherto, had always addressed each other by their Christian names. “Why, Gerald; how formal! Since when have you become so strictly ceremonious?”
“Since Mr. Brewster announced a day or two ago, when some one spoke of you by your given name, that hereafter you were to be addressed as Miss Brewster,” the young man responded, flushing slightly, although a smile of sympathetic amusement curled his own expressive lips.
“Did papa say that?” questioned Allison, with a shrug of her graceful shoulders. “What nonsense! Why, I have been running in and out of the bank ever since I was able to walk, and it seems absurd putting on such airs, when everybody knows me so well.”
“Still, you are a young lady now, and it does seem a trifle familiar to address you as if you were only a child,” Gerald thoughtfully observed.
Allison stood considering the matter for a moment; then she gravely remarked:
“I say, Gerald, I shall not mind the change very much from the others; but,” with an independent toss of her pretty head, “I won’t be ‘Miss Brewster’ to you.”
Gerald shot a quick, bright glance at the speaker.
“Thank you—I am sure I appreciate this mark of your esteem,” he said, in tones that were a trifle tremulous, “but,” a roguish twinkle in his fine, dark eyes, “how about obeying orders from one’s chief?”
“Well, perhaps you’ll have to do as papa wishes, when you are here with the other clerks; but, Gerald”—appealingly, yet half-defiantly—“when—when we are by ourselves, I—just won’t stand it; it will spoil all our nice times, and make us too stiff and prim for anything. Do you want me to call you Mr. Winchester?”