He could not know that
Joe Ellison, emotionally elated and with a hungry, self-denying
affection that reached out toward them all, was seeing his daughter as
just such a girl as one of these--simple, wholesome, well-brought-up.
He could not know that Joe, in a way, perceived his daughter in every
nice young woman he saw.
Toward evening of the seventh day of her visit, Miss Sherwood
returned. Larry was on the piazza when the car bearing her swept into
the white-graveled curve of the drive. The car was a handsome,
powerful roadster. Larry had started out to be of such assistance as
he could, when the figure at the wheel, a man, sprang from the car and
helped Miss Sherwood alight. Larry saw that the man was Hunt--such a
different Hunt!--and he had begun a quick retreat when Hunt's voice
called after him:
"You there--wait a minute! I want a little chin-chin with you."
Larry halted. He could not help overhearing the few words that passed
between Hunt and Miss Sherwood.
"Thank you ever so much," she said in her even voice. "Then you're
coming?"
"I promised, didn't I?"
"Then good-bye."
"Good-bye."
They shook hands friendly enough, but rather formally, and Miss
Sherwood turned to the house. Hunt called to Larry:
"Come here, son."
Larry crossed to the big painter who was standing beside the power-
bulged hood of his low-swung car.
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