The gentleman answering, "Thank you, my boy. Yes, your mother and I are very old friends, though I am older than she, by a score of years or more."
"That must be your uncle's, Rupert, take it to the spare room," said Mrs. Keith, glancing at the valise.
"A fine looking fellow, but all Keith, isn't he, Marcia?" remarked her uncle, as the lad left the room. Then as Cyril bounded in at another door, "Ah! this one's a Stanhope! Come and shake hands with your uncle, my man."
Don and the two little girls were close behind Cyril, and these had scarcely been introduced, when Mr. Keith came in from his office, bringing with him Mildred, Zillah and Ada, whom he had met on the way.
Mr. Dinsmore was a stranger to them all, but every one seemed glad that he had come to visit them, and he was quite charmed with the cordiality of his reception, and the bright, intelligent faces, and refined manners of both parents and children.
They made him very welcome, very comfortable, and spared no exertion for his entertainment.
Being an observant man, he soon discovered that Mildred, toward whom he felt specially drawn from the first, was ailing, and immediately proposed taking her home with him to spend the winter in the sunny South.
This was on the afternoon of the day succeeding that of his arrival, as he and Mr. and Mrs. Keith sat conversing together in the parlor, the young people having scattered to their work or play.
The father and mother exchanged glances, each reading in the other's face a longing desire to accept the invitation for their child, mingled with the sad conviction that it was impossible to do so.
This Mr. Keith presently put into words, accompanied with warm thanks for the intended kindness to Mildred.
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Dinsmore, "don't talk of kindness, the obligation will be on my part; and as to the impossibility, it is all in your imaginations. I, of course, shall bear all the expense of the journey, and--No, Marcia, don't interrupt me. I owe it to you, for I can never repay the kindness you showed your aunt in her last sickness, and to poor Horace and myself after she was gone. And you owe it to your child not to refuse for her what is really necessary to her restoration to health."