Presently old Jonas shuffled in with Madeira, cakes, and
sandwiches, and Stephen began on them immediately.
"I came over so you could see me in my uniform," he explained; "and
I'm going back right away to see mother and Paige and Marye and
Camilla." He paused, sandwich suspended, then swallowed what he
had been chewing and took another bite, recklessly.
"I'm very fond of Camilla," he said condescendingly. "She's very
nice about my going--the only one who hasn't snivelled. I tell
you, Ailsa, Camilla is a good deal of a girl. . . . And I've
promised to look out for her uncle--keep an eye on old Lent, you
know, which seems to comfort her a good deal when she begins
crying----
"Oh. . . I thought Camilla didn't cry."
"She cries a little--now and then."
"About her uncle?"
"Certainly."
Ailsa looked down at her ringless fingers. Within the week she had
laid away both rings, meaning to resume them some day.
"If you and your father go, your office will be closed, I suppose."
"Oh, no. Farren will run it."
"I see. . . . And Mr. Berkley, too, I suppose."
Stephen looked up from his bitten seedcake.
"Berkley? He left long ago."
"Left--where?" she asked, confused.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164