"Utterly inappropriate," mused Dunham, smiling to himself as he glanced up at these "old maids of the forest." "They would be far better placed in front of Judge Trent's. He is a bachelor by conviction."
Miss Lacey saw the young man coming up the walk, and herself opened the door, although she kept a little maid of fourteen, who attended school by day and assisted Miss Martha in her free hours for her board and lodging.
"How do you do, Mr. Dunham?" she said, brow and voice anxious. "I hope nothing bad has brought you."
"Do you call gratitude and admiration bad?" asked John, as she hastily shook hands with him.
"There's very little of either ever walks in this door," returned Miss Martha dejectedly. "Step into the parlor, please. I'll pull up the shades in one minute."
She suited the action to the word, and as she threw open a window the scent of lilacs floated into the room. "These are nice long evenings, aren't they?" she pursued lugubriously. "What are you grateful for, Mr. Dunham?"
"My handkerchief, of course."
"Law! Your handkerchief!" repeated Miss Lacey. "Do sit down."
A swift glance at the spider-legged furniture caused John to choose the haircloth sofa, whose shining surface bulged substantially. He wondered where the judge used to sit. Any of the chairs would have held him, but perhaps they both used this sofa. If so, they must have led a migratory existence; and perhaps its slipperiness had infected and undermined the stability of the judge's affections.
"You didn't need to make any fuss about the handkerchief," added Miss Martha.