As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, "Finish that handkerchief—now, at once. It is time you were taught other than tom-boy ways."
John went by into the house. After dinner the Squire had his usual game of whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wandered like birds on the wing, from twig to twig. John usually played far better, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to his uncle's disgust. A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallow went to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, and the Tribune, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics. Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passed quickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, "May I come in, Uncle Jim?"
During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John's visits and intelligent questions. Leila was welcome. "Why, of course, pussy cat. Come in. Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke. Sit down." For some reason she desired to stand. "Don't stand," he said, "sit down on my knee." She obeyed. "There," he said, "that's comfy. How heavy you are. Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?"
"Isn't it awful, Uncle Jim."
"It is—it is. What do you want, my dear? Anything wrong with the horses?"
"No, sir. It's—John—"
"Oh! it's John. Well, what is it?"
"It isn't John—it's John and the horses—I mean John and Dixy. Patrick rides Dixy for exercise every day."
"Well, what's the matter? First it's John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy, and then John and Dixy and Pat."
The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said with gravity, "I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim. I want five minutes of uninterrupted attention."