“Come in, come right in,” said he, cheerily, as he ushered Hugh into his library. Low, richly-carved bookcases occupied the walls. Every shelf was filled with tawny-colored volumes. Above one of the bookcases was a large mounted buffalo head, and across the room, as a foil for the buffalo trophy, was a pair of mounted Texas steer horns, measuring almost six feet from tip to tip. A few bronzes and choice paintings, artistically arranged, set off the room. The ceiling was delicately frescoed in blue and gold, while a deep frieze of red suggested warmth.
“Thank you,” said Hugh, as he seated himself in a chair pushed toward him by the major.
“Well, I am glad to see you again, Stanton, I am indeed,” said the major. “I have been looking forward to a visit from you with the keenest pleasure.”
“It is very good of you to say so,” answered Hugh, “but I am quite sure that I have reason to be congratulated more than yourself!”
“As to that—ah!” exclaimed the major, hastily arising from a leather couch, where he had thrown himself, “Mr. Stanton, permit me.” Some one had entered the room through a side door directly back of Hugh’s chair. He arose and turned as the major spoke.
“My daughter, Miss Marie, Mr. Stanton.” The girl appeared to be about eighteen years of age. She bowed rather coldly, and turned toward her father, asking, “How soon will you want me to sing, papa?”
“Oh, ho!” laughed the major, “that was a little surprise I had in store for Mr. Stanton. You have robbed my program of part of its interest.”
“I beg your pardon, papa,” said the girl, her lips parting in a sweet smile, “now that Mr. Stanton is advised of it, he will have ample time to prepare his nerves for the ordeal. You see, papa,” she went on, “Ethel Horton has invited me to go driving with her. We will not be gone long—perhaps an hour.”
“All right, daughter, that will be soon enough,” replied the major.
As the girl turned to go, Hugh noticed her wealth of bronzed hair. She was just budding into womanhood, and her soul shone out through her deep blue eyes, as if challenging one to doubt her. Hugh’s glance was half critical, although not the glance of personal interest.