Quite as
though Steve had not been there at all she passed him, to hesitate
demurely at Caleb's side.
"Good morning, Uncle Cal," she greeted him.
And then, quite suddenly, Caleb didn't feel so very sorry after all for
his little visitor. He stopped pitying him. Steve's eyes had not
wavered once from the little girl's face, from the time she appeared in
the hedge gap until she mounted the steps, utterly oblivious to his
nearness; but when she brushed against his elbow, the boy rose and
stood, hat in hand, gravely quiet, gravely possessed, and silently sure
of himself.
Even after he had answered Barbara Allison's greeting and turned with
his grown-up, ponderous courtesy to present the boy to her, only to be
left with the words hanging upon tongue-tip by her instant
disappearance inside in search of Sarah, Caleb caught no hint of the
thoughts behind those impassive and steady eyes. And yet he knew that
Steve had risen in order that he might bow as he had the night before,
when Caleb introduced him to his sister.
Dexter Allison, coming up in less airy fashion across the lawn,
surprised Caleb with his mouth still open.
"Well?" said Dexter Allison--and Caleb recovered himself.
"Well?" he countered; and then they both laughed softly and shook
hands. It was their unvaried formula of greeting, whether they had not
seen each other for twenty-four hours or twenty-four months.
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