“I am here, Dorothy. Come in, Mr. Mayne. Dick is here too, and I am so sorry mother is out.”
“I might have known that scapegrace would have given me the slip!” muttered Mr. Mayne, as he shook hands ungraciously with Nan, and then followed her into the work-room.
Dick, who was examining the wardrobe, turned round and saluted his father with a condescending nod:
“You were too long with the parson: I could not wait, you see. Did you make all these dresses, Nan? You are awfully clever, you girls! They look first-rate,—this greeny-browny-yellowish one, for example,” pulling out a much furbelowed garment destined for Mrs. Squails.
“Oh, Dick, do please leave them alone!” and Nan authoritatively waved him away, and closed the wardrobe.
“I was only admiring your handiwork,” returned Dick, imperturbably. “Does she not look a charming little dressmaker, father?” regarding Nan with undisguised pleasure, as she stood in her pretty bib-apron before them.
But Mr. Mayne only drew his heavy eyebrows together, and said,—
“Pshaw, Dick! don’t chatter such folly. I want to have some talk with Miss Nancy myself.”
“All right: I have had my innings,” returned naughty Dick; but he shot a look at Nan that made her blush to her finger ends, and that was not lost on Mr. Mayne.
“Well, now, Miss Nancy, what does all this mean?” he 226 asked, harshly. “Here we have run down just in a friendly way,—Dick and I,—leaving the mother rather knocked up after her travels at Longmead, to look you up and see how you are getting on. And now we find you have been deceiving us all along, and keeping us in the dark, and that you are making yourselves the talk of the place, sewing a parcel of gowns for all the townspeople.”