"I had them postpone our coffee," Thatcher explained as he presented Cosden to the Stevenses and to Hamlen, and Huntington to each. "We shall enjoy it the more for having you with us."
Huntington found himself sitting between the daughter and Hamlen, while Cosden sat next to Mrs. Thatcher across the table. There had been no recognition, and Huntington was glad of it; he preferred to introduce the subject in his own way and at his own time. The girl, however, had already discovered a bond.
"Aren't you Billy Huntington's uncle?" she asked.
"Yes," he admitted; "but where in the world did you meet him?"
"He is a particular friend of my brother Philip's," she explained. "Philip is a year ahead of him at Harvard, you know, but they are great pals. My brother always has him at the house whenever he's in New York."
"Well, well!" laughed Huntington. "The young rascal never told me anything about it! But wait a minute—Phil Thatcher—why, of course! Billy has had him in to dine with me several times. So he's your brother!"
"Yes; I was sure I was right," she smiled. "We're friends already, aren't we?"
"We are," Huntington acquiesced gravely; "and I shall do something particularly nice for Billy to show my appreciation of what he has done for me."
Mrs. Thatcher caught the general drift of her daughter's conversation, and she leaned across the table.
"Are you not a Harvard man, Mr. Huntington?" she asked. "If so, you and Mr. Hamlen must have been in college at about the same time."