He laughed boyishly.
“It’s awfully good of you. But please, if you mind coming, don’t; for indeed I——”
“You ain’t your aunt,” asserted Martin with a shy glance into her face.
Lucy met the glance with a blush and a whimsical smile.
“No, I’m not,” she responded, “and sometimes I wish you weren’t your father and your grandfather.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because if you were just you, you’d be more forgiving—I know you would.” 188
She saw him bite his lips and a dull red tinge his cheek. Without answering he turned into the long avenue and presently drew up before the side door.
“There you are!” he remarked stiffly.
Lucy did not need to look at him to sense that the kindliness had left his countenance, and his jaw had become grim and set.