The girl walked thoughtfully on, but when she paused to look back she
saw that he had resumed his slow walk in the opposite direction, his
stick describing odd flourishes in the air, as before.
When she reached Bolton House she was ushered into a beautiful parlor
by a prim maid in a frilled cap and apron. The maid presented to her
attention a small silver tray, and Ellen, blushing uncomfortably
because she had no card, asked for Miss Orr.
Soon the frilled maid reappeared. "I'm sorry, Miss," she said, "I
thought Miss Lydia was at home, but I can't find her anywheres
about."
She eyed Ellen's trim figure doubtfully. "If there was any message--"
"No," said Ellen. "I only came to call."
"I'm real sorry, Miss," repeated the maid. "Miss Lydia'll be sorry,
too. Who shall I say, please?"
"Miss Dix," replied Ellen. She walked past the maid, who held the
door wide for her exit. Then she paused. A surprising sight met her
eyes. Lydia Orr, hatless, flushed as if by rapid flight, was just
reaching the steps, convoying the strange old man Ellen had met on
the road a short time before.
The maid at her back gave a little cry. Ellen stood staring. So this
was the person Jim Dodge had gone to fetch from somewhere!
"But it isn't too warm for me to be walking out to take the air," she
heard, in the heavy mumble of the man's voice. "I don't like being
watched, Lydia; and I won't stand it, either. I might as well be--"
Lydia interrupted him with a sharp exclamation.
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