She was flaunting her disapproval before her as a sort of banner when, finally, the lecturer came to an end and the audience began their noisy business of getting out of their seats. Missy glanced about, suspicious yet alertly inquisitive. Would the women rush up and kiss him? Her eyes rested on prim Mrs. Siddons, on silly Miss Lightner, on fat, motherly Mrs. Allen, Kitty's mother. Poor Kitty, if her mother should so disgrace herself!--Missy felt a moment's thankfulness that her own mother was safely home in bed.
A lot of people were pushing forward up the aisle toward the lecturer; some were already shaking hands with him--men as well as women.
Then Missy heard herself uttering an amazing, unpremeditated thing:
“Would you like to go up and shake hands with Mr. Dobson, father?”
The moment after, she was horrified at herself. Why had she said that? She didn't want to shake hands with a repulsive siren!
Just what did he mean by that? And by that quizzical sort of smile? She felt her cheeks growing hot, and wanted to look away. But, now, there was nothing to do but carry it through in a casual kind of way.
“Oh,” she said, “I just thought, maybe, it might be interesting to shake hands with such a celebrity.”
“I see,” said father. He was still smiling but, taking hold of her arm, he began to elbow a slow progress toward the platform.
Just before they reached it, Missy felt a sudden panicky flutter in her heart. She shrank back.
So father went first and shook hands with Mr. Dobson. Then he said:
Not able to lift her eyes, Missy held out her hand; she observed that Mr. Dobson's was long and slender but had hair on the back of it--he ought to do something about that; but even as she thought this, the hand was enclosing hers in a clasp beautifully warm and strong; and a voice, wonderfully deep and pleasant and vibrant, was heard saying:
“Your daughter?--you're a man to be envied, sir.”
Then Missy forced her eyes upward; Mr. Dobson's were waiting to meet them squarely--bright dark eyes with a laugh in the back of them. And, then, the queerest thing happened. As he looked at her, that half-veiled laugh in his eyes seemed to take on a special quality, something personal and intimate and kindred--as if saying: “You and I understand, don't we?”