A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
“Oh, then you didn't come for it again—to-day,” she said. “I'm so glad! I didn't want to refuse—you.”
“Indeed I didn't come for it—and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about that, please.”
Mrs. Greggory sighed.
“I'm afraid you thought me very rude and—and impossible the other day,” she stammered. “And please let me take this opportunity right now to apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think after you left.”
Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
“Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory,” she begged.
“But it was our fault that you came. We asked you to come—through Mr. Harlow,” rejoined the other, hurriedly. “And Mr. Henshaw—was that his name?—was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to tell you how much we really did appreciate it—and your offer, too, which we could not, of course, accept,” she finished, the bright color flooding her delicate face.
Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the opposite chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she wished to say.
“I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed—about the Lowestoft. We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope now to keep it.”