“I suppose,” said Mr. Donalds, at last, “that you have some sort of terms to suggest. Let me hear them!”
“Certainly,” said she; “but here’s our tea. How nice! Thank you, Betsy dear!”
Mr. Donalds remained silent until the timid Betsy had set the tea out on the table and once more retired.
“Now!” he said grimly. “The terms, madam—the terms!”
“Mr. Henderson,” she replied in a grave tone, “I wish you would sit down and take a cup of tea—and a sandwich. They’re very nourishing sandwiches. I made them myself; and you need nourishment and refreshment. You are tired, and in an extremely nervous condition.”
This was almost more than Mr. Donalds could bear. He struggled with his indignation for a moment, and then gave a short laugh.
“No doubt my pitiful condition distresses you very greatly,” he observed, with biting sarcasm.
“It does,” said she. “I am a good judge of character, and, since I have actually seen you, I am inclined to believe that you are not really a bad or heartless man. I feel now that what you have done, you have done more through lack of understanding than from deliberate cruelty.”
“Upon my word!” said Mr. Donalds.
He was dazed. He sank heavily into a chair opposite her, and stared at her; and she actually smiled at him—smiled gravely but kindly.