While yet the handkerchief-hunt was
in full cry, the professor's ears caught the rattle and flap of the
opening gate, and following it the quick, vigorous tap of small
boot-heels upon the marble flagstones. Next came a light, rustling
spring up the creaking porch-steps, and ere the old gentleman could
get his head far enough over his knees to see down the entry, a
fresh-looking young woman appeared smiling in the door-way, dressed in
a tawny summer-suit, and holding up in one hand a long, slender envelop,
sealed with a conspicuous monogram, and stamped with the New York
post-mark.
CHAPTER II.
SIGNS OF A THUNDER-SHOWER.
Before the delivery of the letter, a very pretty little ceremony took
place. The professor had stretched forth his hand to receive it, when,
by a sudden turn of the wrist and arm, the young lady whisked it out of
his reach and behind her back, and in place of it brought down her
fresh, sweet face with its fragrant mouth to within two inches of his
own wrinkled and bristly visage. A moment after, the ceremony was
completed, the letter delivered, and the postman, stepping over her
father's fallen slipper, leaned against the balcony-railing, and waited
for further developments.
The professor took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, placed them
carefully upon his strongly-marked nose, and scrutinized in turn the
direction, post-mark, and seal.
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