Читать книгу Jessica Trent's Inheritance онлайн

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“Well! I’ve my opinion of a man that can laugh—to-day—after losing Sunny Face!” growled Samson under his breath.

“Light weight! Light weight, in his head. I always said so,” added John Benton, solemn as an owl or—as when he was attempting to lead the Sunday music at Sobrante.

In one glance at their stern faces Ninian Sharp comprehended what was in their minds, and set himself to undo any false impression he had given. That, despite their growls, they liked him he was perfectly sure; also, that though they did indeed sorely feel the loss of the girl they adored they were still human enough to enjoy their present outing in the “City of the Angels,” and—a good dinner!

Handing the ladies over to the care of an obsequious clerk, he proceeded to line up the ranchmen and to usher them into the big dining-room, with its long array of neatly-spread tables, and toward that corner of it which the head waiter indicated.

Inwardly he enjoyed that brief march from the door to the chairs, each “boy” assuming an air of I-do-this-sort-of-thing-every-day, don’t-you-know, and each displaying an awkwardness quite unknown at quiet Sobrante. However, once in their places, and he acting as interpreter of the menu spread before them, they forgot themselves and awaited the feast with scant thought for anything beyond it.