Her cheeks grew pink, her black
eyes shone. It was a captivating spectacle.
I called Rhodora's attention to it. Finding nobody else to do her honour
she had entered into conversation with the Lad. Both looked up as I
spoke to them.
"Yes, isn't she great!" agreed the Lad softly. "Nicest old lady I
ever saw."
"It's too exciting for her, I should say," commented her granddaughter.
"I didn't think she ought to come. I could have come alone just as
well--I'd a good deal rather. She's getting pretty old."
The Skeptic and the Philosopher each did his duty by Rhodora before the
evening was over. The Skeptic played four sets of tennis with her--she
is an admirable player--but he beat her until he discovered that she was
growing very much annoyed--then he allowed her to win the last set by a
game. The Lad, who was watching the bout, announced it to me under his
breath with a laugh. Then the Philosopher took Rhodora through the
garden and over the place generally.
"I think you should have a shawl about your shoulders, Rhodora," said
Grandmother, when the girl and the Philosopher had returned and taken
their seats upon the steps of the porch.
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