“I suppose a man would never think of trying the obvious places first,” she replied. “Hastings, don't you see that poor old woman over there? She looks so thirsty—give her this.”
The boy addressed, with a glance at Austen, did as he was bid, and she sent off a second on another errand.
“Let me help,” said Austen, seizing the cake; and being seized at the same time, by an unusual and inexplicable tremor of shyness, thrust it at the baby.
“Oh, he can't have anymore; do you want to kill him?” cried Victoria, seizing the plate, and adding mischievously, “I don't believe you're of very much use—after all!”
“Then it's time I learned,” said Austen. “Here's Mr. Jenney. I'm sure he'll have a piece.”
“Well,” said Mr. Jenney, the same Mr. Jenney of the apple orchard, but holding out a horny hand with unmistakable warmth, “how be you, Austen?” Looking about him, Mr. Jenney put his hand to his mouth, and added, “Didn't expect to see you trailin' on to this here kite.” He took a piece of cake between his thumb and forefinger and glanced bashfully at Victoria.
“Have some lemonade, Mr. Jenney? Do,” she urged.
“Well, I don't care if I do,” he said, “just a little mite.” He did not attempt to stop her as she filled the glass to the brim, but continued to regard her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. “Seen you nursin' the baby and makin' folks at home. Guess you have the knack of it better'n some I could mention.”
This was such a palpable stroke at their host that Victoria laughed, and made haste to turn the subject from herself.
“Mr. Vane seems to be an old friend of yours,” she said.