Humility considered before answering. “I had rather you stayed. He’s like a boy over this business; but he’s a man, after all.”
After this they fell into quite trivial talk, while Humility prepared the tea things.
“Your mother—Mrs. Venning—how does she face the journey?”
“You must see her,” said Humility, smiling, and led her into the room where the old lady reclined in bed, with a flush on each waxen cheek. She had heard their voices.
“Bless you”—she was quite cheerful—“I’m ready to go as far as they’ll carry me! All I ask is that in the next place they’ll give me a window where I can see the boy’s lamp when he’s built it.”
Humility brought in the table and tea-things, and set them out by the invalid’s bed. She went out into the kitchen to look to the kettle. In that pause Honoria found it difficult to meet Mrs. Venning’s eyes; but the old lady was wise enough to leave grudges to others. It was enough, in the time left to her, to accept what happened and leave the responsibility to Providence.
Honoria, replying but scarcely listening to her talk, heard a footfall at the outer door—Taffy’s footfall; then the click of a latch and Humility’s voice saying, “There’s a visitor inside; come to take tea with you.”
“A visitor?” He was standing in the doorway. “You?” He blushed in his surprise.
Honoria rose. “If I may,” she said, and wondered if she might hold out a hand.
But he held out his, quite frankly, and laughed. “Why, of course. They will be lighting up in half an hour. We must make haste.”