Part 22 (2/2)

It was very still in the hall, and, when he looked up after a moment, Lillian had bowed her head in her hands.

”I don't want to pain you,” he began.

”O Aleck!” she cried, putting out one hand, ”it was _my_ story!”

At this point Peterkin, seeing matters were likely to be settled satisfactorily, and feeling no interest in details, dozed off again. The next thing he knew the gas was lit, and Mr. Morrison was saying, ”Why, how are you, Carter? Delighted to see you. Where did you come from? Let me present you to Mrs. Morrison,” and Miss Sherwin, with a becoming color in her face, was explaining that Mr. Carter was an old friend, and they were all talking and laughing at once in the absurd way people have sometimes, so that it was next to impossible to understand anything.

When Mr. Carter left, after declining the Morrisons' invitation to spend the evening, Peterkin followed him out on the porch to get a little air.

The Spectacle Man, coming in from a walk, found him sitting there, looking like some dignified old Quaker in his gray coat and white necktie.

Mrs. Morrison slipped her hand into Miss Sherwin's as they went upstairs. ”Am I right in what I guess?” she whispered.

”How could you know it?” Lillian asked, with an answering clasp.

”My dear, if you could see your face!--but I felt certain he would come!”

”O Miss Sherwin!” called Mr. Morrison, who, with Frances, had lingered at the door, ”your acquaintance with Mr. Carter partly explains something that puzzled me. I was struck with the resemblance between him and the young farmer in the first ill.u.s.tration in your story. Did he sit for the portrait?”

”Jack, you must be dreaming!” his wife exclaimed.

”I don't understand at all,” Lillian said, in great confusion.

”Could it possibly have been accidental?” A mischievous light shone in Mr. Morrison's eyes.

His wife shook her head at him, but Frances ran off to find the magazine. Miss Sherwin recovered herself, and explained with a great deal of dignity that, if it were so, it was quite accidental. That she had known Mr. Carter since they were children, and was, of course, very familiar with his face; then she said good evening, and left them.

”Very well done,” Mr. Morrison exclaimed.

”Why, where is Miss Lillian,” asked Frances, coming back; ”I want to show her the picture. It is like Mr. Carter.”

”Not now, dear,--another time,” said her mother; adding, ”You were aching to tease her, Jack, and I am glad she did not give you an opportunity.”

Mr. Morrison laughed. ”I suppose congratulations are next in order. It is at least a natural inference when you find a young man's image so deeply graven upon the heart of a young woman that she unconsciously reproduces it in her drawing.”

”I am sure he is to be congratulated,” remarked Mrs. Morrison.

”Unless I am very much mistaken, so is she,” her husband added.

Frances was listening with wide-open eyes. ”Is Miss Sherwin going to be married to Mr. Carter?”

”I shouldn't be a bit surprised, Wink, if she were,” replied her father, ”but you and I are supposed to know nothing about it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.

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