"
"I see," said father. He was still smiling but, taking hold of her
arm, he began to elbow a slow progress toward the platform.
Just before they reached it, Missy felt a sudden panicky flutter in
her heart. She shrank back.
"You go first," she whispered.
So father went first and shook hands with Mr. Dobson. Then he said:
"This is my daughter."
Not able to lift her eyes, Missy held out her hand; she observed
that Mr. Dobson's was long and slender but had hair on the back of
it--he ought to do something about that; but even as she thought
this, the hand was enclosing hers in a clasp beautifully warm and
strong; and a voice, wonderfully deep and pleasant and vibrant, was
heard saying:
"Your daughter?--you're a man to be envied, sir."
Then Missy forced her eyes upward; Mr. Dobson's were waiting to meet
them squarely--bright dark eyes with a laugh in the back of them.
And, then, the queerest thing happened. As he looked at her, that
half-veiled laugh in his eyes seemed to take on a special quality,
something personal and intimate and kindred--as if saying: "You and
I understand, don't we?"
Missy's heart gave a swift, tumultuous dive and flight.
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