She was very carefully vivacious, was Miss Hastings, and had a bird-like habit, meant to be very fetching, of cocking her head to one side as she spoke, and peering up to men--oh, away up--with the beady expression of a pet canary.
"My very first visit," confessed Mr.Turner, not yet realizing the disgrace it was to be "new people" at Meadow Brook, where there was always an aristocracy of the grandchildren of original Meadow Brookers.
"However, I hope it won't be the last time," he continued.
"We shall all hope that, I am certain," Miss Westlake assured him, smiling engagingly into the depths of his eyes.

"It will be our fault if you don't like it here;" and he might take such tentative promise as he would from that and her smile.
"Thank you," he said promptly enough.

"I can see right now that I'm going to make Meadow Brook my future summer home.

It's such a restful place, for one thing.

I'm beginning to rest right now, and to put business so far into the background that--" he suddenly stopped and listened to a phrase which his trained ear had caught.
"And that is the trouble with the whole paper business," Mr.Princeman was saying to Mr.Westlake.