"And now where are the girls?" demanded Neal, with a view to changing the subject. "I want to see them."
His sister called them in from the next room, and they had a merry meeting.
"How funny it is," thought Cynthia. "The last time I saw Neal we were like two drenched water-rats on the river at home. Whoever thought we should meet away off here in a strange house and a strange city, where all is so different? I believe things are really going to come right after all, and that day I was perfectly certain they never would. Here is Edith well and strong when I thought she was surely going to die, and mamma has seen Neal and seems as happy as a lark, and Neal himself looks fine. Somehow he seems more like a man. I'm proud of him."
All of which train of thought took place while Cynthia was indulging in an unwonted fit of silence.
Neal soon suggested that they should take a walk, and the girls acceding to it, the three set forth, Neal feeling extremely proud of the two pretty maidens with whom he was walking.
"Philadelphia has an awfully forlorn look in summer," he said, with the air of having been born and brought up a Philadelphian. "You see, everybody goes out of town, and the houses are all boarded up. You're here at just the wrong time."
"We are certainly here at a very hot time," remarked Edith, as she raised her parasol.
"They call it very cool for this time of year," said Neal. "You forget you are farther south than old Massachusetts. It is a dandy place, I think, though I wouldn't mind knowing a few people that are not Friends."
"How can you know people unless they are friends?" asked Cynthia, gayly.
"Cynth, what a pun!" said Neal, with an attempt at a frown. "I say, though, it's awfully jolly to have you two girls here, even if Cynthia does keep at her old tricks and make very poor puns. How long are you going to stay?"