Jerome's eyes followed hers, and he sprang up suddenly, his face
blazing, and made out that he did not see the proffered little hand.
"Pretty well," he returned, gruffly. Then he said to the Squire, with
no lack of daring now, "Can I see you alone, sir?"

The Squire stared at him a second, then his great chest heaved with
silent laughter and his yellow beard stirred as with a breeze of
mirth.

"You don't object to my daughter's presence?" he queried, his eyes
twinkling still, but with the formality with which he might have
addressed the minister.

Jerome scowled with important indignation. Nothing escaped him; he
saw that Squire Merritt was laughing at him. Again the pitiful
rebellion at his state of boyhood seized him. He would have torn out
of the room had it not been for his dire need. He looked straight at
the Squire, and nodded stubbornly.

Squire Merritt turned to his little daughter and laid a tenderly
heavy hand on her smooth curled head. "You'd better run away now and
see mother, Pretty," he said. "Father has some business to talk over
with this gentleman."

Little Lucina gave a bewildered look up in her father's face, then
another at Jerome, as if she fancied she had not heard aright, then
she went out obediently, like the good and gentle little girl that
she was.

When the door closed behind her, Jerome began at once. Somehow, that