I wondered if I ought to ask him to walk in,--him, the master and the heir; whether I should ask him to take a seat on the oaken settee, where he could watch the carriage, ascending the winding hill.
"Do not let me disturb you," he said, looking at me with a questioning, penetrating glance, then added, "am I guilty of the rudeness of not recognizing a former acquaintance, who has passed from childhood to youth, during my years of absence ?" "No, sir," I answered, again wondering if politeness required me to introduce myself.

"I am a stranger to you, though for two years your mother's home has been mine.

My name is Lynn,--Gabriella Lynn." I was vexed with myself for this awkward introduction.

I did not know what I ought to say, and painful blushes dyed my cheeks.

I would not have mentioned my name at all, only, if his mother and sister delayed their coming, he might feel awkward himself, from not knowing what to call me.
"My mother's protegee!" said he, his countenance lightening as he spoke.
"Edith has mentioned you in her letters; but I expected to see a little girl, not the young lady, whom I find presiding genius here." My self-respect was gratified that he did not look upon me as a child, and there was something so graceful and unostentatious in his air and manner, my self-possession came back without an effort to recall it.
"Will you walk in ?" I asked, now convinced it was right.
"Thank you; I am so weary of the confinement of the carriage, I like the freedom of the open air.