“Well, he seemed to me to be studying me as a kind of problem,—no, not that,—he appeared—ah, this is my idea—he seemed to me to survey me just as I have seen mothers look at their sons after a session’s absence. ‘Has he grown? Has he changed? Has he improved?’ Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“What are you laughing at? What do I mean, then?”
“I gather from all you say that your impression is that this Mystery, this Enigma, this Sphinx, this Don Miff—longs to be a mother to you.”
“Mr. W-ha-c-k-e-r!”
I could never understand why a man must not laugh at his own witticisms; and my hilarity on this occasion immediately drew the other girls and Mrs. Carter into the front parlor, where Lucy and I were sitting. By rapidly interposing a succession of chairs between that young woman and myself, I succeeded in giving the ladies an enlarged and profusely illustrated edition of Lucy’s views of the state of the Don’s feelings and intentions in regard to herself, when, seizing my hat, I fled, leaving the three girls in uproarious glee, and Mrs. Carter collapsed in an arm-chair, weeping, while voiceless laughter rippled along her rotund form. As I passed in front of the window Lucy’s head appeared.
“Say your prayers twice to-night,” said she.
CHAPTER XV.
“Jack,” said Charley that night at my rooms, “have you any message for the old gentleman? I am off for home to-morrow.”
“Indeed! Why this sudden resolution?”