Miss Baker was in great agitation.
“I—I hardly think you'd better,” she murmured; “he—he—I don't think he drinks beer.”
“He takes his amusement in sewin' up books,” cried Maria.
Marcus brought him down, nevertheless, having found him just preparing for bed.
“I—I must apologize,” stammered Old Grannis, as he stood in the doorway. “I had not quite expected—I—find—find myself a little unprepared.” He was without collar and cravat, owing to Marcus Schouler's precipitate haste. He was annoyed beyond words that Miss Baker saw him thus. Could anything be more embarrassing?
Old Grannis was introduced to Mrs. Sieppe and to Trina as Marcus's employer. They shook hands solemnly.
“I don't believe that he an' Miss Baker have ever been introduced,” cried Maria Macapa, shrilly, “an' they've been livin' side by side for years.”
The two old people were speechless, avoiding each other's gaze. It had come at last; they were to know each other, to talk together, to touch each other's hands.
Marcus brought Old Grannis around the table to little Miss Baker, dragging him by the coat sleeve, exclaiming: “Well, I thought you two people knew each other long ago. Miss Baker, this is Mr. Grannis; Mr. Grannis, this is Miss Baker.” Neither spoke. Like two little children they faced each other, awkward, constrained, tongue-tied with embarrassment. Then Miss Baker put out her hand shyly. Old Grannis touched it for an instant and let it fall.
“Now you know each other,” cried Marcus, “and it's about time.” For the first time their eyes met; Old Grannis trembled a little, putting his hand uncertainly to his chin. Miss Baker flushed ever so slightly, but Maria Macapa passed suddenly between them, carrying a half empty beer bottle. The two old people fell back from one another, Miss Baker resuming her seat.