[MR. ELY WOOES]
The interview between Mr. Ely and the object of his heart's devotion was not so solemn as it might have been. Possibly that was in a measure owing to what had gone before. But it must be owned that Miss Truscott's mood was hardly attuned to the occasion. We must also, at the same time, allow that Mr. Ely's demeanour was hardly that of the ideal wooer.
"Your aunt seems to have a nice idea of business! I've heard a few things, but she beats all! I thought she was getting at me, upon my word I did!"
This was scarcely the remark with which to open a tender interview. Miss Truscott said nothing. She was seated in a low garden-chair, hatless, her little feet peeping from under the hem of her summer gown. She seemed sufficiently cool just then, but her silence did not appear to be altogether to Mr. Ely's liking. He himself did not seem to be as cool as he might have been.
"I believe, Miss Truscott, that Mr. Ash has told you what's brought me here."
Mr. Ely's tone seemed even waspish--not loverlike at all.
"Indeed!" Miss Truscott just parted her lips and let the word drop out, that was all.
"May I ask what I am to understand by that?"
Just then a fat white dog, of the doormat species, appeared on the top of the steps. Miss Truscott addressed this animal--
"Pompey! Pompey! Good dog! Come here!"