"Yes, Mr. Wetherley; one should always look before he leaps."
"Yes, yes; oh, indeed, yes. A man had better look out, or--"
"Or he'll catch a Tartar!" said a clear, strange voice.
Fanny Newt and Wetherley turned simultaneously toward the speaker. It
was a young man, with clustering black hair and sparkling eyes, in a
traveling dress. He stood in the back room, which he had entered through
the conservatory.
"Abel!" said his sister, running toward him, and pulling him forward.
"Mr. Wetherley, this is my brother, Mr. Abel Newt."
The young men bowed.
"Oh, indeed!" said Zephyr. "How'd he come here listening?"
"Chance, chance, Mr. Wetherley. I have just returned from school. Pretty
tough old school-boy, hey? Well, it's all the grandpa's doing. Grandpas
are extraordinary beings, Mr. Wetherley. Now there was--"
"Oh, indeed! Really, I must go. Good-morning, Miss Newt. Good-morning,
Sir." And Mr. Zephyr Wetherley departed.
The brother and sister laughed.
"Sensible fellow," said Abel; "he flies the grandpas."
"How did you come here, you wretch!" asked Fanny, "listening to my
secrets?"
"My dear, I arrived this morning, only half an hour ago. I let myself
in by my pass-key, and, hearing voices in the parlor, I went round by the
conservatory to spy out the land. Then and there I beheld this spectacle.
Fanny, you're wonderful."
Miss Newt made a demure courtesy.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93