"No, he isn't a 'horrid man,' either," whispered her brother,
laughing. "He is a classmate of mine. Why, Stanhope, how are you?
I did not know that you and my sister were so well acquainted," he
added, half banteringly and half curiously, for as yet he did not
fully understand the scene.
The hall-lamp, shining through the open door, had revealed the
features of the young man (whom we must now call Mr. Stanhope), so
that his classmate had recognized him. His first impulse had been
to slip away in the darkness, and so escape from his awkward
predicament; but George Alford's prompt address prevented this and
brought him to bay. He was painfully embarrassed, but managed to
stammer: "I was taken for you, I think. I never had the pleasure--
honor of meeting your sister."
"Oh, ho! I see now. My wild little sister kissed before she
looked. Well, that was your good-fortune. I could keep two
Thanksgiving days on the strength of such a kiss as that," cried
the light-hearted student, shaking the diffident, shrinking Mr.
Stanhope warmly by the hand.
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