"Well, that's not fair, Mr. Leishman—it's not indeed. That's as good as saying that you think I'm mean—it is indeed. Oh, yes, it is. You can accuse me of many things—I'm not perfect—but meanness! Well you ask my friends. You ask my friend Mrs. Armstrong who's known me as long as any one has—almost from the cradle you might say. Mean! You ask her. Why, only the other day, the day Mr. Prothero was here and that young nephew of his, she said, 'Of all the generous souls on this earth, for real generosity and no half-and-half about it, you give me Katie Tenssen.' Of course, she's a friend as you might say and partial perhaps—but still that's what she said and——"
The old man had been trying again and again to interrupt this flood. At last, because Mrs. Tenssen was forced to take a breath, he broke in:
"No. No. Indeed not. Dear, dear, what a mistake! The last thing I was suggesting."
"Well, I hope so, I'm sure." The outburst over, Mrs. Tenssen relapsed into teeth-picking again.
Henry saw that there was nothing more to be got from the situation just then.
"I must be going," he said. "Important engagement."
Mrs. Tenssen shook him by the hand. She regarded him with a wider amiability now that he was departing.
"Come and see us again," she said. "Any afternoon almost."
By the door he turned, and suddenly the girl, from the far end of the room, smiled. It was a smile of friendship, of reassurance and, best of all, of intimacy.