Then Moira, putting on her grand air, stepped into the parlour, and saw
standing there and awaiting her, a young man with a thin and somewhat
hard face, a firm mouth, and extraordinarily keen, grey eyes. Upon her
appearing the young man stood looking upon her without a word. As a
matter of fact, he was struggling with a problem; a problem that was
quite bewildering; the problem, namely, "How could hair ever manage
to get itself into such an arrangement of waves and curls, and golden
gleams and twinkles?" Struggling with this problem, he became conscious
of her voice gravely questioning him. "You were wishing to see my
brother?" The young man came back part way, and replied, "Oh! how does
it--? That is--. I beg your pardon." The surprise in her face brought
him quite to the ground, and he came at once to his business. "I am Mr.
Martin," he said in a quick, sharp voice. "I know your brother and Mr.
Dunn." He noted a light dawn in her eyes. "In fact, I played with them
on the same team--at football, you know."
"Oh!" cried the girl, relief and welcome in her voice, "I know you,
Mr. Martin, quite well. I know all about you, and what a splendid
quarter-back you are." Here she gave him both her hands, which Mr.
Martin took in a kind of dream, once more plunged into the mazes of
another and more perplexing problem, viz.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139