“He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never find
A better friend than——”
Mrs. Budd poked her head into the room. “Hugh McClintock,” she announced. “In the parlour.”
“Here to see me?” asked Miss Lowell, just as though she had not known he was coming.
“I kinda gather that notion. Anyhow, he asked for you. Were you dollin’ up for me an’ Jim?”
“I’ll be right down, tell him.”
“I would, dearie. He’s ce’tainly wearin’ out the rim of his hat makin’ it travel in circles.”
After which shot Mrs. Budd puffed downstairs and read the riot act mildly to Jim for having tracked mud into her immaculate kitchen.
If Hugh was embarrassed it was because of the nature of his mission this evening. He had plenty of native dignity, but he knew nothing of the thought processes of young women going-on-eighteen. Would they take well-meant advice in the same spirit in which it was given? He did not know, but he intended to find out.