was on a hot July day that Sister Sue received the letter from Martin Kent saying that since they seemed so ardently to want to see him, he was coming, though he was still a little fearful, he said, lest his visit be a burden to them. However, he would come for the week-end, arriving Saturday at four o'clock. And of course he was eager to see them, as they would know that he must be. And he closed with a very beautiful and very tender sentiment that would have held the eyes of most girls for the lingering reading over and over of the words.
But not so Sister Sue. Sister Sue barely skimmed through the closing paragraph before she looked up with startled eyes.
"Martin is coming. He's coming Saturday," she announced hurriedly to her brother and sister. "But—I don't understand. He writes as if—if we'd been urging him to come, lately." Her eyes went from Gordon's face to May's. On May's they paused, their pupils dilating in startled questioning. "May, you did n't—say anything?"
May shrugged her shoulders daintily.
"Now, Sister Sue, don't look so shocked," she pouted. "Of course I did n't say anything—much. I just wrote him how lonesome we were."
"May!"
"Well, I guess I've got a right to tell my future brother-in-law how tired and worn out you are getting," bridled May, looking very superior indeed; "and that we were just stagnating in this awful place, and we'd give anything to see a real man once more, and—"
"Oh, May!" remonstrated Sister Sue again, falling back in her chair with a gesture of dismay.
"Well, I don't care," maintained the younger girl stoutly. "He's coming, anyhow. I don't care if you do scold. Besides, I should think you'd want to see him. I would if he were engaged to me!"
"Hush! Be still. Of course I want to see him," protested Sister Sue, "if he wants to be seen. Not otherwise. We don't want to urge—unwilling visitors, remember," she finished a little coldly, as she rose to her feet and turned to leave the room.
Martin Kent came at the appointed time on Saturday. Gordon met him at the station. They came home in the town "bus." Gordon had wanted to ask Mrs. Kendall for the car. But Sister Sue said no, indeed, no! And she had said it so emphatically that he had not liked to urge the matter. Mrs. Kendall, besides coming to the station after them on the day of their arrival, had taken them all for a ride two or three times in a somewhat stiff "Of-course-I-understand, it's-my-duty-you-know" way (according to May), and she had told Sister Sue that she would be glad to lend the car and the chauffeur to her some day for calls if she liked. But Sister Sue had never availed herself of the privilege; and she told Gordon that nothing would induce her to ask for the car to go and meet Martin Kent.
Martin was looking well. He said he was well, though he was working very hard just now correcting proofs. The book was to come out in October. It was to be called "Trixie." He said that it was a wonderful novel. Then he laughed and apologized for being so conceited, but declared that it really was a wonderful novel, and had developed into something away beyond his expectations. He said the publishers thought very highly of it, too; and that they really had great hopes of its being a fine success.
Sister Sue said she was glad, she was sure. May clapped her hands rapturously, and declared she'd known all along it would be a success. Gordon grunted out something, an indeterminate something that might have passed for almost anything. Mr. John Gilmore was not present. He was out in the garden caring for his flowers. Mr. John Gilmore was spending a great deal of time in his garden these days, and very happily.
After Martin Kent told of his book he told of the city and their friends, most of whom had left town for the summer, he said. He talked then of the new books he had read, and the new celebrities he had met since the Gilmores had left Boston. He told them of the invitations he had had for the summer—charming places, charming people, seashore and mountains. But he said he was not going to accept any of them. He had made up his mind. He was coming up to Gilmoreville just as soon as he could—maybe by the twentieth—and stay at the Inn. He would have a real rest then, and be near them, where he could see them every day.
May clapped her hands at this and drew an ecstatic sigh.
"Oh, Martin, you've saved our lives!" she gurgled. "It seemed as if I just couldn't stand it all summer, without somebody. But now—oh, I'm so glad! Are n't we, Sister Sue?"