“That little vixen is up to some mischief, I know,” twittered Mrs. Weston.
“Whatever it is, I am grateful to her,” responded Mr. Spencer. “I don’t think I ever heard Robert laugh like that before. Did you, Stella?” he asked, turning to his sister.
“He wasn’t so different from other boys, Bob,” she said smilingly; “he and I have had many a romp together.”
“Maybe so, maybe so,” he muttered.
“If I should say ‘booh!’ you’d run,” said Margaret with conviction, to Robert.
“Try me and see,” was his good-humored response, just as dinner was announced.
Mr. Spencer had seated the two young people together, for he rightly concluded that the ice would be broken sooner, over soup and fish, with the assistance of warm candlelight and flowers, than in a drawing-room with the accompaniment of voices no longer young.
In taste, Robert was no acolyte, and he gave a little sigh of satisfaction as his eyes took in the exquisite details of the table of polished, massive mahogany, with gleaming silver and glass, the bowl of gorgeous, rich red roses, and the candles with their red shades.
Turning, he met the eyes of his companion, and involuntarily thought that she fitted with the environments. Her hair had a decidedly reddish cast, and framed a face which was small and white, with a refractory red mouth and an insignificant nose.
Her eyes were peculiar, but very beautiful, large and full and greenish in color, shaded by lashes so long and dark that they gave a dazzling brilliance to her face.