“You have something against Mrs. Deacon?” he suggested, delicately. “You don’t like her moustaches, perhaps? Or perhaps you think that a five mile walk would be good for her health?”
Jane was not listening.
“I—you see, I thought it would be nice if Mr. Sheridan took Lily home. And a little while ago I was talking to Mr. Buchanan who brought the Deacons here. He was sitting outside, and he seemed awfully tired and sleepy, and kept saying that late hours were bad for young and old; and then I said that—that the Deacons weren’t going back with him. And he didn’t wait a minute. He just got into his sleigh, and went off like Santa Claus. And now, it looks as if Mr. Sheridan and Lily were mad at each other—and if Mrs. Deacon finds out that I told Mr. Buchanan to go—I don’t know what to do!”
“Well!” said Paul, “I suppose you’re about the coolest—rascal I ever met in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of anyone like you.”
“What shall I do?”
“Do? Why, to be perfectly consistent with your kind, after having gotten everything into a sweet kettle-of-fish, just wash your hands of it. Leave it to Providence—and hike for the tall timber.” Then he began to chuckle, hugging himself, and shaking up and down, in a rapture of mirth.
“Oh, don’t bother about it. They’ll get home all right—”
“I’m not bothering about that. I’m thinking about what’ll happen if Mrs. Deacon finds out that I sent Mr. Buchanan away.”
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She hasn’t found out yet.”
“I wonder why Mr. Sheridan and Lily are mad at each other.” Then she jumped up.