And he would not sit to drink his tea, while she stood by, as she did, to wait upon the children—to see that they didn't butter their sashes and slop milk down their frocks; and under the circumstances it was impossible not to talk to her.
"Will you allow me to introduce myself?" he ventured to say, during a pause in her ministrations, when she seemed uncertain whether to go or stay. "I am Anthony Churchill—of the firm, you know. I hope I am not taking a liberty, but your father was such an old friend. I grieve indeed to hear—I knew nothing about it when I came the other day——"
Jenny flushed and fluttered, and, because she was physically weary, could not bear to be reminded of her father, who used to take such tender care of her. For an instant her eyes glistened, warning him to hurry from the subject.
"I think it is so brave of you to do what you are doing. My sister has been telling me about it."
"Oh, thank you—but my mother and sister do more than I do, in proportion to their strength. My sister is delicate; I'm afraid it is not good for her to sit here all day." After a pause, she added, "Mrs. Oxenham has been very, very kind to me; your father too."
"I am sure they were only too glad, if they had the chance. I wish—I wish I were privileged to be some help."
"Oh, thank you! The only help we wish for is for people to come and drink our tea, and show themselves satisfied with it."
"May I come and drink it sometimes? I feel as if men were out of place here; I am sure you would rather not have them—but I am a very quiet fellow, and I have a woman's passion for tea." He had nothing of the sort, but that didn't matter.
"Anyone has a right to come who chooses," she answered, turning from him to attend to little Grace.
The words were discouraging, but he thought the tone was not; and he determined to come again, and alone, at the earliest opportunity.