“Indeed, they are both in--this way, sir, and let me have your hat and coat.”
It was a delightful party that greeted the boy. Peter was standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, his coat-tails hooked over his wrists. Miss Felicia sat by a small table pretending to sew. Holker Morris was swallowed up in one of Peter's big easy-chairs, only the top of his distinguished head visible, while a little chub of a man, gray-haired, spectacled and plainly dressed, was seated behind him, the two talking in an undertone.
“Why, Breen!--why, my dear boy!--And you have a holiday, too? How did you know I was home?” cried Peter, extending both hands in the joy of his greeting.
“Oh, the good Patrick! Well, well! Holker, you remember young Breen.”
Holker did remember, for a wonder, and extended one hand to prove it, and Felicia--but the boy was already bending over her, all his respect and admiration in his eyes. The little chub of a man was now on his feet, standing in an attentive attitude, ready to take his cue from Peter.
“And now, my boy, turn this way, and let me introduce you to my very dear friend, Mr. Isaac Cohen.”
A pudgy hand was thrust out and the spectacled little man, his eyes on the boy, said he was glad to know any friend of Mr. Grayson, and resuming his seat continued his conversation in still lower tones with the great architect.
Jack stood irresolute for an instant, not knowing whether to make some excuse for his evidently inopportune visit and return later, or to keep his seat until the others had gone. Miss Felicia, who had not taken her gaze from the lad since he entered the room, called him to her side.
“Now, tell me what you are all doing at home, and how your dear aunt is, and--Miss Corinne, isn't it? And that very bright young fellow who came with you at Ruth's tea?”
It was the last subject that Jack wanted to discuss, but he stumbled through it as best he could, and ended in hoping, in a halting tone, that Miss MacFarlane was well.
“Ruth! Oh, she is a darling! Didn't you think so?”
Jack blushed to the roots of his hair, but Miss Felicia's all-comprehensive glance never wavered. This was the young man whom Ruth had been mysterious about. She intended to know how far the affair had gone, and it would have been useless, she knew, for Jack to try to deceive her.