“I have been thrust so rather forcibly into the honor of your acquaintance,” murmured Barnes, “in the hope that I may be of some service.”
As he observed the lightning flashes beginning to cut the dark of her eyes, Barnes suspected that she had already found in the hidden depths of them, the missing temper. The formal courtliness of his introductory speech baffled her for a moment, but now she observed in a sharp staccato,
“Perhaps my niece will explain where she had the honor of meeting Mr. Barnes.”
“By the hedge,” answered Barnes, assuming the burden of the reply, “just by the letter-box.”
“And she is indebted—”
“To Chance and the courtesy of the road.”
“And the service you propose?” continued the little old lady, clearly still bewildered. “A set of books, perhaps?”
It was evident that her wits were still keen.
“No,” answered Barnes, unruffled. He could blame his portfolio for that accusation. “No, though it’s a matter requiring equal tact if that is possible.”
The aunt, with a queenly nod of her white head towards a chair, graciously gave him permission to be seated, though the red in her cheeks was heightening ominously. Barnes surmising that she was struggling hard not to sacrifice her present advantageous position to a quick tongue, resolved to put the matter bluntly while yet there was time.