“How do you do?” she asked faintly.
Mr. Huntington looked down at the vivid little figure in the red coat, and his eyes widened.
“A—how do you do?” he said mildly.
Well, he wasn’t going to eat her, anyway, so she needn’t be so frightened, Peggy decided with a breath of relief.
“Oh, Mr. Huntington,” she said with a surprising increase of confidence, “I came—I came—I—came—” but the confidence had evaporated before she could find words to explain.
“I see you did,” replied the old man, still mildly—and could she believe that twinkle in his eyes was a smile? Perhaps he didn’t often have much to smile about, so that this was the best he could do.
“Won’t you come in?” he invited, as an afterthought.
And Peggy followed him into Gloomy House.
The hall was stately, with its wide folding doors opening into the library on one side and a dining-room on the other. In it were an old tall clock and a black walnut hat-rack.
“It’s a little chilly in here for you, I’m afraid,” said her host politely.