She got the obnoxious word out at last, with the same deliberate emphasis that she had used on the word “sir.” Mr. Bradfield evidently got impatient.
“I told you I didn’t mind,” he said, shortly. “What does it matter what you please to think of me or my manners? If you had thought my looks or my manners so important you would have made inquiries about them before coming, wouldn’t you? You would have written: ‘Dear Sir,—Please send reference as to your appearance and general behaviour.’ As you didn’t write me like that, I take it for granted you did not care what my manners were, any more than I cared about yours. I take it that our coming together was a matter of mutual convenience, and that as long as we don’t get in each other’s way we need trouble ourselves no more about each other’s personality than if we were in separate hemispheres. Well, then, I can promise you at least that I won’t get in your way any more than I can help.”
Mr. Bradfield delivered this speech with his back to the fire and his hands clasped behind him. From time to time, as he spoke, he cast furtive glances at Chris, but he did not look once at the lady he was addressing. Mrs. Abercarne, however made up her mind to put up with his peculiarities, so she uttered a curious little sound, which passed by courtesy for a laugh of appreciation of his humour, and graciously expressed her own gratitude and her daughter’s for his kind reception of them.
“My only fear is that you are spoiling us by treating us too well, sir,” she concluded.
Again she rolled out the “sir” in the manner of a duchess conversing with a prince. Mr. Bradfield winced perceptibly.
“You needn’t say ‘sir’ if you don’t like it,” said he, drily. “It doesn’t seem to agree with you. Glad you’re pleased. You can have this room to yourselves if you like; I don’t use it much. And anything you want let me know of it at once. You needn’t come to me,” he continued, quickly, “but just send word. I want you to be comfortable, very comfortable. Perkins will give you the keys and all that. And—and I hope you’ll be happy here.”
Again he glanced at the girl as he walked rapidly to the door, nodded “good-night,” and went out.
For a few moments after they were left alone together neither mother nor daughter uttered a single word. They glanced at the door as if determined not to commit further indiscretions by hazarding any comment on Mr. Bradfield, until he had had time to take himself to the remotest part of the house. At last, when each had well considered the countenance of the other, Mrs. Abercarne spoke.
“A very kindly, hospitable man, and very forgiving, too; don’t you think so, my dear?” were her first words.
Chris stared at her mother, and then at the door. Surely Mrs. Abercarne must have an idea that she could be overheard, or she would never perjure herself in this fashion. The elder lady went smoothly on, without appearing to notice her daughter’s hesitation in answering.