“Mr. Bass asked my father and me to come down for a few days,” answered Cynthia, her color heightening again. Life is full of contrasts, and Cynthia was becoming aware of some of them.
“Uncle Jethro?” said Bob.
“Yes, Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia, smiling in spite of herself. He always made her smile.
“Uncle Jethro owns the Pelican House,” said Bob.
“Does he? I knew he was a great man, but I didn't know how great he was until I came down here.”
Cynthia said this so innocently that Bob repented his flippancy on the spot. He had heard occasional remarks of his elders about Jethro.
“I didn't mean quite that,” he said, growing red in his turn. “Uncle Jethro—Mr. Bass—is a great man of course. That's what I meant.”
“And he's a very good man,” said Cynthia, who understood now that he had spoken a little lightly of Jethro, and resented it.
“I'm sure of it,” said Bob, eagerly. Then Cynthia began to walk on, slowly, and he followed her on the other side of the fence. “Hold on,” he cried, “I haven't said half the things I want to say—yet.”
“What do you want to say?” asked Cynthia, still walking. “I have to go.”