"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!"
Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand, covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden seat, resigned himself to patient waiting.
Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her coming known.
She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked.
"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind."
"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?"
"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd."
"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh, then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha."
"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I—I——"
As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked—"Who is that?"