“Yes, Mr. Ford went,” replied the young girl nervously, twining and untwining her fingers.
“And did he enjoy himself?” asked the little spinster quietly.
“Mr. Ford always enjoys himself where strangers are concerned,” returned Sue, her breath coming quick. Then with a toss of her pretty head: “My—my stepfather and I do not always agree about—well, about lots of things, Miss Moulton.” The tears were fast welling into Sue Preston’s eyes. Again she gave a brave little toss of her head, brushing the tears away with the back of her hand—her lips quivering.
Miss Ann rose quietly, went over to the young girl, put an arm tenderly about her neck, bent down and kissed her flushed cheek. Sue’s small hand crept into hers.
“There! there! you’re tired, child,” murmured the little old maid affectionately. “Your dear mother will be wondering, I fear, what has become of you.”
“I’m—I’m going now,” Sue managed to say. “You’ve been so good and kind to me,” she added tensely, her voice none too steady as she left the comfortable old chair and its eider-down cushions, and stood up straight, her hands clasped behind her, her blue eyes gazing gratefully into Miss Ann’s.
“And you’ll come again, won’t you?” ventured the little spinster, “and bring your dear mother.”
She summoned Mary for Sue’s dry things from the kitchen, and when finally she opened the sitting-room door leading out to the gloomy hallway, Sue lingered for an instant on its threshold. Then impulsively she flung her arms about the little woman’s neck, kissed her withered cheek, and flew down the stairs.
CHAPTER VI
The fact that Enoch Crane returned Ebner Ford’s call a week later, proved that whatever his opinion might be of his neighbor, he felt in duty bound to return his visit. In matters of this kind Enoch was as punctilious as an ambassador. This man, whom strangers put down as crusty, cold, crabbed, and uncompanionable, could not be accused of being a snob or a boor. It may be further said that he decided to call on Ford purely out of self-respect for himself—in what he conceived to be the well-bred thing to do. He who had been capable of opening his door wide to his unwelcome visitor, had waved him courteously to the comfort of his favorite chair, had listened to his cheap and overfamiliar talk, and had explained to him as politely as he could that he had a pressing engagement, pursued, nevertheless, his code of manners in accordance with what he considered to be his duty as a gentleman under unfortunate obligations of the kind. Enoch might easily have barred his door to Ford forever, and thus have banished the overneighborly promoter and his worthless laundry stock from his mind. The memory of Ford’s visit had not altogether ceased to irritate him. There were moments, however, as he chanced to recall it, when his broader mind and higher intelligence saw its humorous side.