“He's tired of us, perhaps;” and Marie-Celeste, looking up at Miss Allyn's sweet face, wondered how that could be, and then asked very seriously, “Do you know what has changed him, Miss Aliyn?”
“Oh, yes, it is easy enough to tell: Oxford and popularity and more money than is good for him, like your friend, Mr. Belden. It takes pretty strong stuff to withstand that combination.”
“Well, I know one thing,” said Marie-Celeste, “and that is that he isn't at all nice to Harold, and that he comes home very seldom, and is very high and mighty when he does come.”
“High and mighty?” queried Albert, with a whimsical little smile. “That must be a funny way to be;” and then Miss Allyn, more impressed than ever with the doubtful propriety of discussing Mr. Theodore Harris's shortcomings under existing conditions, looked at her watch, and discovering it was time to go home, asked Marie-Celeste to come with them to luncheon.
“No, not to-day, thank you. Mamma will be sending to look me up if I don't hurry home myself. So, good-bye; good-bye, Albert (with a kiss, which the fast-maturing, little fellow was half inclined to resent), and thank you ever so much for the music. Shall you play on Thursday, Miss Allyn?”
“Yes; at this same time, probably.”
“Then I shall surely come.”
“So s'all I,” chimed in a little voice with even firmer determination.