“Oh, indeed!” earnestly responded the girl, “it has been a real satisfaction to us all to be permitted to alleviate in some degree the troubles of this lady. But pray come in.”
He followed into the old familiar hall, with its broad horsehair sofa and straight-backed chairs and frescoed pictures above them, with its oaken doors on either side, and its well-worn staircase in the center.
“There is no fire in the big parlor. Come in here,” she said, and she opened a door on the left leading into the family sitting-room, where Mrs. Wynthrop and her second daughter, Elizabeth, were seated at work.
The elder lady was cutting and basting on a lapboard. The younger one was thumping away at a sewing machine.
Both arose and left their seats to welcome the visitor.
“We are very happy to see you, Mr. Harcourt. This is my daughter Betty. I think you have never met her before. Betty, dear, this is Mrs. Harcourt’s son,” said Mrs. Wynthrop, cordially shaking hands with the visitor, and presenting him to her younger daughter.
The young man bowed to the young girl, who seemed in face and form only a fairer and more delicate repetition of her mother and elder sister.
“Take this armchair in the chimney corner, Mr. Harcourt,” said Margaret. “But take off your overcoat first. Frankly, you are not looking in good health. You must be careful of yourself at this season of the year, when the changes are so sudden.
Harcourt thanked his counselor, and obeyed her.
When he was seated he again expressed his warm gratitude to Mrs. Wynthrop for her kindness to his aged and infirm mother.