“Well, I'm only jealous about nice things, any way, Harry Murray,” and Nan sat bolt upright again; “I do not wish I had other boys' tops and marbles the way you do.”
Harry was on the point of framing a quick retort, but he checked himself. He really was trying to be less of a tease, as far as Nan was concerned. Mr. Vale was the only one who noticed this little act of self-control.
“Good for you, Harry!” he exclaimed, “keep that sort of thing up, and I have no fears for the sort of man you'll make.”
“Keep what sort of thing up?”
Regie and Nan looked at each other rather mystified, and Nan was very uncomfortable; besides, she did not enjoy the novel sensation of having had the last word, and she did wish Mr. Vale had not heard her speak that way to Harry. She wondered if he thought she was a regular little heathen.
“Keep what sort of thing up, Mr. Vale?” asked Regie, after a pause.
“Why, self-control, Rex. You see that remark of Nan's about tops and marbles made Harry feel like speaking back pretty sharply: so much like it that I fairly saw the words shaping themselves on his lips, but you did not hear them spoken, did you, Nan?”
“No,” Nan confessed.
But if you had looked Harry's way just then you would have seen a queer little smile instead, which seemed to say, “Why, Nan's such a dear little thing I ought not to mind what she says.”
“Well, that's just exactly what I was thinking,” said Harry, astonished at Mr. Vale's power to read his thoughts.