I won't forget." There was a faint weariness in her tones, despite the smile which accompanied them.

Sandy's nice green eyes surveyed her critically, noting the slight hollowing of the outline of her cheek and the little tired droop of her lips as the smile faded.
"I tell you what it is," he said, "you're fagged out, tramping over here in all this heat.

I'll ring and tell them to hurry up tea." But before he could reach the bell a servant entered, bringing in the tea paraphernalia.

Sandy turned abruptly to the piano, thrumming out a few desultory minor chords which probably gave his perturbed young soul a certain amount of relief, while Nan sat gazing with a half-maternal, half-humorous tenderness at the head of flaming red hair which had earned him his sobriquet.
"Weel, so ye've come to see me at last--or is it Sandy that you're calling on ?" The door had opened to admit Mrs.McBain--a tall, gaunt woman with iron-grey hair and shrewd, observant eyes that glinted with the grey flash of steel.
Nan jumped up at her entrance.
"Oh, Aunt Eliza?
How are you?
I should have been over to see you before, but there always seems to be something or other going on at Mallow." "I don't doubt it--in yon house of Belial," retorted Mrs.McBain, presenting a chaste cheek to Nan's salute.

The young red lips pressed against the hard-featured face curved into a smile.