"Now we are all alone, Richard. Go into the drawing-room and I will follow. I do want to have a chat with you."
She came in with needle and thread and scissors.
"If you will take off your coat, I will stitch on that button that is hanging by one thread. I noticed it this morning, and then it went quite out of my mind. I am so sorry!"
"Oh, thanks!" he blushed hotly. "But I can stitch myself, you know—"
"Come, you needn't be shy of an old woman seeing you in your shirt-sleeves. Do as I ask."
He doffed the coat.
"I always like young men to be immaculately neat," she said, cutting off a piece of cotton. "One's personal character is an index to one's character, don't you think? Of course you do. Here, thread the needle for me. I am afraid since your dear sister died you have grown a little careless, eh? She was most particular. Ah, what a mother she was to you!"
"Yes," said Richard.
"I was very grieved to see you go to the funeral in a soft hat—Richard, really I was. It wasn't respectful to your brother-in-law's memory."