“Good-morning, Cora,” he said, on entering the hall.
Elsie, who stood at the window with her back to the door, turned quickly round.
“Oh, I beg pardon,” he said, with a slightly confused air; “I thought you were Cora, and—”
“Well,” interrupted Elsie, with a hurt look that accorded ill with a twinkle in her eyes; “I think you might know the difference between me and Cora by this time, though you only saw my back.”
“Ah, Elsie!” returned the youth, as he shook hands, “you ought in fairness to make allowance for the effects of spring. You know full well that the glare of the sun on the snow half blinds a fellow, so that even when, when—”
“Come, now, don’t search about in your empty brain for one of your unmeaning compliments, but say at once what brings you here at so early an hour. Has a war party of Sioux come down on us, or is the river about to break up?”
“War-parties of Sioux are no doubt prowling about the plains somewhere,” returned Lambert, with a smile, “and the ice will go soon if this heat continues; but neither of these things brought me here. The truth is, I came to ask if Winklemann has been seen to pass your windows this morning?”
“The truth?” repeated Elsie, with a searching look.
“Well,” replied the youth, with a laugh, “I came also to see you and—and—Cora.”
“And father also, I suppose?”