He accepted her invitation to come in and warm his feet at the
glowing fire in the grate, which Carrie's father had made before
retiring. Mrs. Mitchell, feeling that her daughter was with an old
friend and playmate, did not think the presence of a chaperon
essential, and left the young people alone. Carrie bustled about,
brought cake, and made hot lemonade, while Marstern stretched his
feet to the grate with a luxurious sense of comfort and
complacency, thinking how homelike it all was and how paradisiacal
life would become if such a charming little Hebe presided over his
home. His lemonade became nectar offered by such hands.
She saw the different expression in his eyes. It was now homage,
decided preference for one and not mere gallantry to two.
Outwardly she was demurely oblivious and maintained simply her
wonted friendliness. Marstern, however, was thawing in more senses
than one, and he was possessed by a strong impulse to begin an
open siege at once.
"I haven't had a single suit of any kind yet, Carrie," he said,
dropping the prefix of "Miss," which had gradually been adopted as
they had grown up.
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