“I guess,” said he, “my nephew—”
“Oh!” cried Jill, “then you are his uncle—dear, dear Mr Headland!” and the little maid flung herself into the astonished gentleman’s arms and relieved her emotions with a flood of tears.
“Seems to me,” said he, looking down and kindly patting the fair head, “my nephew’s a hundred miles too far away at this minute.”
American mayors are not as a rule endowed with gifts of prophecy, but it seemed as if there was an exception to the rule in the case of Mr Headland; for a moment later the door opened, and the tutor, eye-glass erect, and blissfully unconscious of the interest which his entry excited, strolled jauntily in.
“Ah,” said he, “you’re still up, then. I just caught the last—”
He stopped short, and the glass dropped abruptly from his eye. Roger had staggered to his feet and was standing with face aglow, stretching out his hand.
The tutor comprehended all. He advanced and placed his arm in that of his brother.
“You have found him at last, then, old fellow?”
“Yes, and without your help.”