I couldn't tell by his face.

He just kind of smiled, and looked queer, and said that Aunt Jane--er--couldn't come.

Then _I_ felt sorry; for I saw, of course, that that was why _he_ had come; not because he wanted to, but because Aunt Jane couldn't, so he had to.

And I could have cried, all the while he was fixing it up about my trunk.
He turned then and led the way straight over to where the carriages were, and the next minute there was John touching his cap to me; only it was a brand-new John looking too sweet for anything in a chauffeur's cap and uniform.

And, what do you think?
He was helping me into that beautiful big green car before I knew it.
"Why, Father, Father!" I cried.