It was, as usual, the portly Dame who came to his relief, reminding:
“There, husband, that will do.”
Then she quietly drew the smock over his head and slipped it back in proper guise. With this upon him his composure returned, and he apologized to Miss Tross-Kingdon as any gentleman might have done.
“Sorry to have kep’ you standing so long, lady, but I’ll step-an’-fetch—”
However he was spared that necessity. Dorothy had heard and understood that the best chair in the house must be placed at the caller’s service and had as promptly brought it. For a moment Miss Tross-Kingdon still stood as if she would decline, till, seeing the disappointment on her host’s face, she accepted it with:
“Thank you. My errand could easily have been done without so troubling you. I came to see if you have any more of that variety of apples that you sent us last time. The chef declares they are the finest yet. Have you?”
“Yes, lady, I’ve got a few bar’ls left. Leastwise, my Dame has. She can speak for hersel’, if so be she wants to part with ’em. I heard her say she meant to keep ’em for our own winter use. But—”
“That will do, John. Bring a pan from the further bin and show Miss Tross-Kingdon. Maybe she’ll like them just as well.”
“All right, wife. I’ll step-an’-fetch ’em to oncet.”
So this obedient husband went out, his lame foot once more dragging heavily behind him, and he managing as he departed to pass by Dorothy and firmly clutch her sleeve, as he hoarsely whispered: