“Lottie wanted to know if you’d come to tea tomorrow,” he said straight out, looking at her with the pale light in his eyes, that smiled palely right into her eyes, but did not see her at all. He was waiting on the doorstep to come in.
“Will you come in?” said Alvina. “Father is in.”
“Yes, I don’t mind,” he said, pleased. He mounted the steps, still holding his bunch of white stocks.
James Houghton screwed round in his chair and peered over his spectacles to see who was coming.
“Father,” said Alvina, “you know Mr. Witham, don’t you?”
James Houghton half rose. He still peered over his glasses at the intruder.
“Well—I do by sight. How do you do?”
He held out his frail hand.
Albert held back, with the flowers in his own hand, and giving his broad, pleased, pale-gleaming smile from father to daughter, he said:
“What am I to do with these? Will you accept them, Miss Houghton?” He stared at her with shining, pallid smiling eyes.