I don't know whether he looked at me or not.

I didn't dare to look at him--until Aunt Jane said, in her chilliest manner: "I trust your daughter had good lessons, Charles." I _had_ to look at him then.

I just couldn't look anywhere else.

So I was looking straight at him when he gave that funny little startled glance into my eyes.

And into his eyes then there crept the funniest, dearest little understanding twinkle--and I suddenly realized that Father, _Father_, was laughing with me at a little secret between _us_.