Mr. Wade found himself sitting on a broad, shady veranda, talking to as pretty a girl as he had seen in years; talking, as he felt with a commendable thrill of pride, his very best. What a listener she was! How graceful! How super-feminine! How ready-witted!
She agreed with him, and Mr. Wade felt even more agreeably conscious than usual of his own good judgment. She disagreed daintily. It was exhilarating to show her where she was wrong.
“If I were twenty years younger!” said Mr. Wade to himself, which was a little more than half the number he should have stated, but what elderly gentleman is exactly accurate in such statements!
He looked sharply at Hastings, and something in the divided attention his nephew was giving John Carrington seemed to please him.
There was a flutter of Hemmy’s apron in the doorway.
“Ned will join us in the dining room,” said John Carrington, genially.
Ned was, in fact, standing on its threshold.
He greeted them with gay good fellowship.
“I’m glad to see you looking so well after yesterday,” Mr. Wade assured him.
Ned flashed a frank, bright smile at him.