“What have I done?” asked Hugh.
“Oh, you neglect your friends so,—unless, perchance, it is your platonic friend, Miss Ethel,” she said, looking archly at him. “I was telling the captain only the other day that we invited you at least a dozen times to our house for every one time you honored it with your presence.”
“One does not like to wear out one’s welcome,” replied Hugh, evasively, “however, I shall be delighted to call to-morrow evening if agreeable.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Osborn. “No,” said she, after a moment’s hesitation, “come to dinner this evening. I think, perhaps, I shall entertain Doctor Avondale to-morrow evening.”
“Oh, very well,” replied Hugh, and with this arrangement he bade her good day.
When Hugh arrived at Captain Osborn’s that evening, he found the captain with his little son, Harry, on a shady grass-plot, which was screened from the street by twining honeysuckles.
“Hello, Hugh, my boy,” cried the captain, as he saw him coming through the gate, “come out here, and make yourself at home.”
“How do, Untile Hoo,” said Harry, as he advanced to shake hands with his father’s friend, “don’t ‘ou fink dis is a nice p’ace?” asked the little fellow, waving his small hand around the enclosed nook.
“Indeed, it is, Harry,” replied Hugh, “one of the most delightful places I ever saw.”
“Dis is where papa an’ I turns a tourtin’,” said he, innocently. “We’s failin’ more an’ more in love wiv each uv’er ever’ time we turns out here, is n’t we, papa?”