Mrs. Stuart made no effort to detain Bess further. She went back to her seat and her darning.
Not, however, to remain long undisturbed. Visitors were plentiful this day. Another rap at the door—gentler in kind than the last—drew Mrs. Stuart thither again.
"May I come in?" asked the Rector's pleasant tones.
Mrs. Stuart backed before him in a flutter of pleasure. As Archie had said, she "set great store" by Mr. Wilmot. A call from him made a red-letter day in her calendar. Mr. Wilmot was a thorough gentleman, never more so than in the homes of working-men, and his kind considerate courtesy had long ago won Mrs. Stuart's heart. Immediately her eyes fell on him, she made up her mind not to speak as yet about the scalded child, lest he should instantly start off for the Handcocks' cottage.
"Pray do come in, sir," said Mrs. Stuart, with an air of much alacrity, dusting a chair which required no dusting.
Mr. Wilmot found his way to it, with a faint smile of response. He looked very pale and weary, and for two or three seconds he did not speak. Mrs. Stuart watched him in an uneasy fashion.
"I'm afraid you're ill, sir," she said at length.
"Not very well," Mr. Wilmot answered. "Would it trouble you much, Mrs. Stuart, to give me a cup of tea?"
Trouble her! Mrs. Stuart was delighted. She put back the kettle on the coals, brought out china and teapot anew, and cut some delicate slices of thin bread-and-butter, disregarding Mr. Wilmot's assurances that he wanted nothing to eat.
Then she stood by the fire, waiting till the kettle should boil. Mrs. Stuart was far too good a housewife to make tea from a singing but not boiling kettle.