Roscoe would have been troubled if Sibyl had ever told Lamhorn she
hoped he was susceptible.
"Yes--we're neighbors," he said, awkwardly.
"Next-door neighbors in houses, too," she added.
"No, not exactly. I live across the street."
"Why, no!" she exclaimed, and seemed startled. "Your mother told me
this afternoon that you lived at home."
"Yes, of course I live at home. I built that new house across the
street."
"But you--" she paused, confused, and then slowly a deep color came
into her cheek. "But I understood--"
"No," he said; "my wife and I lived with the old folks the first year,
but that's all. Edith and Jim live with them, of course."
"I--I see," she said, the deep color still deepening as she turned
from him and saw, written upon a card before the gentleman at her
left the name, "Mr. James Sheridan, Jr." And from that moment Roscoe
had little enough cause for wondering what he ought to reply to her
disturbing coquetries.
Mr. James Sheridan had been anxiously waiting for the dazzling visitor
to "get through with old Roscoe," as he thought of it, and give a
bachelor a chance. "Old Roscoe" was the younger, but he had always
been the steady wheel-horse of the family.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80