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Mists of white drift blew across her, mercifully half veiling her. Eugene recovered himself. He swung round upon his heel, restored his hat to his head with precision, picked up his stick and touched his banjo-case with it. "Carry that into the house," he said, indifferently, to his step-brother. "Don't you do it!" said the girl, hotly, between her chattering teeth.
"Pick up that banjo-case again and come on," commanded Mr. Bantry, tartly. "Where's the mater?" Joe stared at him. "Where's what?" "The mater!" was the frowning reply. "Oh yes, I know!" said Joe, looking at his step-brother curiously. "I've seen it in stories. She's up-stairs. You'll be a surprise. You're wearing lots of clothes, 'Gene."
The girl's teeth stopped chattering, her lips remaining parted; she shook the hair out of her eyes and stared at him as if she did not understand, but Joe Louden, who had picked up the banjo-case obediently, burst into cheerful laughter. "That's it, 'Gene," he cried, gayly. "That's the way to talk to her!" "Stow it, you young cub," replied Eugene, not turning to him.
In one hand the youth swung a bone-handled walking-stick, perhaps an inch and a half in diameter, the other carried a yellow leather banjo-case, upon the outer side of which glittered the embossed-silver initials, "E. B." He was smoking, but walked with his head up, making use, however, of a gait at that time new to Canaan, a seeming superbly irresponsible lounge, engendering much motion of the shoulders, producing an effect of carelessness combined with independence an effect which the innocent have been known to hail as an unconscious one.
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