Jim seemed nonplussed.
“I confess you have the best of me, Mrs. Merwent.”
Nannie was mollified by seeing how disturbed he looked.
“I knew you would consider Lucy’s welfare just as I do.” Then she seemed to dismiss the discussion. “There she is now. She does spoil Jimmie so!”
“It has begun to rain, Dimmie. You mustn’t stay out in the rain. Where’s Papa?” Lucy was heard saying.
“Dear me! It is raining. I left a coat suit airing in the window. I’m packing away my winter things. You will excuse me while I go and take it in, Mr. Sprague?” Mrs. Merwent was smiling now, though she continued to regard Jim with apprehension.
Jim turned to face her suddenly.
“Hold on, Mrs. Merwent!” he began in an odd tone, his voice not quite under his control.
Nannie continued to smile impersonally but in spite of herself she hesitated.
“You will please tell me now just what you mean about Lucy and myself,” he demanded rather than asked.
“Maybe Uncle Jim knows where Papa is.” Lucy came toward the living room door.
Nannie raised her brows again and nodded at Jim significantly.
“Ahem—I really don’t think we had better—” she murmured.
Jim shrugged his shoulders with a baffled air and began to refill his pipe. At the same moment Lucy appeared in the doorway behind her mother.
“Where’s John?” Lucy asked, entering the room with Dimmie and glancing about inquiringly.
“Why he went out for a few minutes. I must run upstairs and take my clothes out of the rain,” Mrs. Merwent murmured, brushing past her daughter into the hallway.
“Whatever made John run away just when dinner was ready? And it’s begun to rain too!” Lucy walked over to the fireplace and placed a screen in front of it.
“Tell me a story, Uncle Jim,” Dimmie begged, pulling Jim’s coat tails and indicating the Morris chair which Nannie had quitted.
“It’s too near dinner time,” Lucy remonstrated, noticing how abstracted Jim appeared. She looked at the clock on the writing desk. “Is it as late as that?” she asked in surprise.
Jim took out his watch.
“Seven fifteen,” he informed her, replacing his timepiece, and walking over to the darkened window he remained, with his back to her, gazing into the faintly lit street.
She scrutinised his half averted face.
“Are you bothered about something, Jim?”
He started slightly.
“Why, no, not particularly. I was figuring out what would be the cheapest material we could put into that new row of houses,” he lied. “I’ve got to send in the final estimates tomorrow.” He moved away from the window and seated himself in the Morris chair with Dimmie in his lap.
“I can’t imagine what keeps John,” Lucy remarked again.
Jim slid Dimmie to the floor.
“Don’t you want me to go and hunt him up?”
“Why—no‑o. I—” Lucy demurred. “I don’t think—”
Just then there was the sound of a key turning in a latch and Dimmie darted forward into the hall shouting, “There’s Papa! There’s Papa!”
John left a parcel on the stand with his hat and overcoat and entered the living room.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you intended going out, John? I wouldn’t have taken dinner up. I’m afraid it is spoiled,” Lucy said good naturedly as she came forward to meet him.
“Oh, you know I—well—” John explained running his fingers through his hair with an embarrassed gesture.
“What in the world did you have to buy that couldn’t wait until after dinner?” Lucy walked into the hall and picked up the package which lay beside his hat.
“Why, it’s some fruit. I thought it might be nice to have some,” he said lamely, following her to the hat stand.
“But there’s plenty of fruit in the house.”
Nannie appeared on the stairs.
“Why, where have you been, John? We were all looking for you,” she called rather uneasily.
XI
John and Nannie entered the dining room together. Jim followed with Lucy and Dimmie.
“Did Nannie give you those flowers, Uncle Jim?” Dimmie asked as they went through the hall. He reached for the boutonniere which Jim was wearing.
“Yes. Do you want some?” Jim answered, taking the sprig of blossoms from his button hole and halting to decorate Dimmie’s blouse with it.
In the dining room there was a little confusion as John pulled out a chair for Nannie and she seated herself with a rustle. She began to serve the soup. Jim observed Lucy stealthily.
When the plates were distributed Nannie noticed Dimmie’s adornment.
“Why, you’ve lost your flowers, Mr. Sprague!” she exclaimed, without looking at Jim.
“I gave them to Dimmie,” he answered quickly.
“Oh,” said Nannie.
John regarded Jim with an expression of surprise but lowered his eyes as Jim met his gaze.
“I don’t believe Mr. Sprague likes flowers, does he, Lucy?” inquired Mrs. Merwent sweetly.
“Of course he does, Mamma,” Lucy declared patiently. There was a brief silence.
“Now we’ll have one of the good old evenings!” cried John, rubbing his hands. “By the way, you two are too formal, Nannie. Why don’t you call each other by your names?”
“Mr. Sprague doesn’t approve of getting acquainted too rapidly,” retorted Nannie.
“I see by the paper that some rich guy has loaned a lot of Corots to the Field Museum. That ought to interest you, John,” remarked Jim, changing the subject.
“Do you know, I was thinking of Corot today,” responded John enthusiastically. “His art is a fairy art. He gives you the poetry of Nature without being irritatingly subjective.”
“I just love Corot,” put in Mrs. Merwent ecstatically.
“Don’t you!” pursued John eagerly. “I tell you, Nannie, that lots of greatly admired things make me sick, jammed full of Christian sentiment, or reminding one of literary illustrations. Why can’t artists stick to their purpose! What was that you said the other evening, Jim, about Botticelli’s Spring—that it was both pagan and subtle, wasn’t it?”
“Forgotten,” said Jim, who was helping Dimmie to potatoes.
“That was it.” Lucy smiled approvingly. “Won’t you have another croquette, Mamma?”
“I believe I will, thank you,”
