And
the young man was very decent about the dime in his fish--though I'm
sure he burned his fingers digging for the smelling salts--for they'd
already begun to sizzle--but dear me! Diane, you can't imagine how I
jarred my spine and my switch--I did think for a minute it would tumble
off--and he was so quick and pleasant to collect the nickels and
hairpins. Such a pleasant, comfortable sort of chap. I remember now
he was at the Sherrill's and very good-looking, too, I must say, and
very lonely too, I'll wager, camping about for his health. He didn't
say anything about his health, but one can see by his eyes that he's
troubled about it."
"Aunt Agatha!" begged Diane helplessly in a flash of foreboding, "what
in creation are you trying to say?"
"Why, Mr. Poynter, of course!" exclaimed Aunt Agatha. "The hand bag
shot into his camp and spilled nickels, and I bumped into a tree and
jarred my switch. And a very fine fellow he is, to be sure!"
Diane stared.
It was like Aunt Agatha to blunder into the wrong camp. And surely it
was like Philip to win her favor by chance.
CHAPTER XLIV
THE TALE OF A CANDLESTICK
The friendship of Aunt Agatha and Mr. Poynter miraculously grew. Aunt
Agatha, upon the following morning, took to wandering vaguely about the
wooded shore and into Philip's camp, impelled by gracious concern for
his health, which she insisted upon regarding as impaired, and by
effusive gratitude for such trifling civilities as he had readily
proffered the day before.
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