How very ordinary she looked, how very good-natured and stout!
Sudden and brilliant ideas came more seldom to Miss Bibby than to the children she was “care-taking.” But undoubtedly one seized her now. The author himself was plainly either out, pacing a mountain top as he worked out his ideas, or else shut up securely in his study.
What if one threw oneself on the mercy of the stout, kindly-faced lady over there and implored her aid in the delicate task!
Miss Bibby did what she had probably never done since she was twenty—acted upon a sudden impulse instead of weighing and considering her action for days and weeks. She found herself moving across the road, lifting the latch of “Tenby’s” gate, walking, [p90] not to the front door and ringing the bell in a respectable fashion, but forcing her trembling knees to carry her directly round to the side verandah.
Miss Kinross looked annoyed; few of us like to be caught by a stranger when we are tilted well back in a rocking-chair eating bananas in our fingers instead of upon a fruit plate and with orthodox knife and fork.
“Oh,” said Miss Bibby, “pray don’t be vexed; pray forgive me, it must seem unpardonably rude, but I—I——” She put her hand to her throat a moment, too agitated to continue.
Miss Kinross laid down her banana skin and rose to her feet, rapidly disarmed.
“It is Miss Bibby, is it not?” she said, holding her hand out with her most pleasant smile. “My brother told me your name; now where will you sit, do you like a low chair? try this one. It is kind of you to look us up so early.”
Miss Bibby sat down still struggling with her agitation.
“I,” she said—“I—not a visit—should not presume—an author’s time—I came simply to ask a favour of you—so great a favour I—simply feel now I am actually here that it is impossible to ask it.”