It was at that instant that Cornelia looked up, and her eyes met the eyes of her handsome, reckless-looking brother, astonishment, bewilderment, shame, delight, and embarrassment struggling in his face. CHAPTER VI “Nell!” There was genuine delight in the boy’s tone as he came forward to greet her, shyly, perhaps, and with a bit of shamed hesitancy because he could not but remember that the family had probably told her all about him, and she would of course disapprove of him as much as they did. But Cornelia, with the steaming gravy-boat in one hand and a pile of hot plates in the other, turned a warm, rosy cheek up to him, her eyes still intent on putting down the dishes without spilling the treacherous gravy on the clean tablecloth. “It’s great to see you again, Carey,” she said heartily, trying to make the situation as casual as possible. “Sorry to seem brief; but I have something luscious on the stove, and I’m afraid it’ll burn. Sit down quick, won’t you?—and be ready to eat it while it’s hot. We’ll talk afterward. I want to have a good look at you and see if you’ve grown more than I have.” Her voice trailed off into the kitchen cheerily, and not in the least as though she had been palpitating between hope and fear about him all the afternoon and working herself to a frazzle getting his room ready. She returned almost immediately with the first plate of golden-brown waffles, and stole a furtive glance at him from the kitchen doorway. He had not yet seated himself, although the others were bustling joyously and noisily into their chairs. He was still standing thoughtfully, staring around the dining-room and at the table. As she approached, he gave her a furtive, sweeping look, then dropped his lashes and slid into his chair, a half-frown beginning to grow on his brow. He looked as if he were expecting the next question to be: “Why weren’t you here last night? Where were you? Don’t you know you were rude?” but none of those questions were voiced. His father did clear his throat and glance up at him gravely; but Louise with quick instinct began to chatter about the syrup that Cornelia had made. His attention was turned aside, and the tense expression of his face relaxed as he looked about the pleasant table and noticed the happy faces. “It hasn’t looked this way since your mother went away,” said the father with a deep sigh. “How good that bread looks! Real home-made bread again! What a difference that makes!” and he reached out, and took a slice as if it were something merely to look at and feel. “I’ll say! That looks rare!” Carey volunteered, taking a slice himself and passing the plate. “Some smell, this dinner, what?” he added, drawing in a long, deep breath. “Seems like living again.”