“Yes: we have been expecting you.”
“I stopped by home to get you these.” He brought out a fistful of deep-hearted pansies, bound in a pink string.
The girl took them, gave him a little, quick pat of the hand which he accepted with a flush of mingled adoration and embarrassment, and pinned them at her throat.
“This is Mr. Burton Higman,” she said. “Mr. Jeremy Robson. To his friends, Jem, and Mr. Higman to his friends, Buddy.”
Mr. Higman regarded Mr. Robson with a consideration in which there was more of suspicion than friendliness.
“Where ’dje gittim?” he demanded of Miss Ames.
“I did not get him. He came,” explained the girl.
“Yep. I seen him before he got here. He was down on the corner, actin’ queer.”
“Hold on, now, Buddy,” protested the other, looking pained. “Don’t take away a man’s character.”
Miss Ames motioned him to silence, and turned an eye of lively anticipation upon the urchin.