"Charming!" he said, absently, "but Gertrude, pray entertain Uncle Henry--Richard--come with me a moment--I must--I will show you your room." And the two friends left the room together.
"Do you know that you are going to have some more visitors this afternoon?" asked the old gentleman, settling himself comfortably in a chair. "Your mother and the Fredericks,--they came back yesterday morning. Jenny looks blooming as a rose, and, thank Heaven! Arthur has got his milk-face burned a little with the sun."
"Yes," replied Gertrude, "he was with them at the Italian lakes for a month." And then as if she had only just taken in his whole meaning,--"How glad I am that mamma is coming out here at once! Ah, uncle, if she would only get reconciled to Frank!"
"Eh, what? Gertrude, don't distress yourself, it will all come right. Besides he is not a man to put up with much nonsense!"
"What could this Wolff have wanted with him?"
"Hm! what are they about in Heaven's name?" asked her uncle, impatiently.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, absently.
"Hungry? How can you use such common expressions? A dish of pork and beans would suffice for hunger. I have an appetite, my child. O, ta, ta, the asparagus will be spoiled if those two stay so long in their room."
It was a very cosy group that Mrs. Baumhagen's eyes rested on as she, with Jenny and Arthur, mounted the veranda steps.
They were sitting over their dessert, and Uncle Henry, with his napkin in his buttonhole, his champagne-glass in his hand, shouted out a stentorious "welcome!" while the young host and hostess hurried down the steps, Gertrude with crimson cheeks. She was so proud, so happy.