He plunged into his errand with all the boldness that a bashful man usually displays when he finally gets his courage to the sticking point.
"You are Miss Bostwick?" he asked.
"What kind of lace—goodness! Who are you?" asked the girl, her stilted, saleslady manner changing to amazement with surprising suddenness.
"I live at Big Wreck Cove. I guess you've heard of it," said Tunis.
"Big Wreck Cove? Do tell!" Her eyes danced. "You're from down on the Cape, then. I guess you want some lace for your wife. What kind did she send you for?"
Tunis brushed this aside bluntly.
"I don't want any lace," he told her. "I come from your aunt, Mrs. Ira Ball."
"My aunt? Fancy!"
"She has heard about you," went on Tunis. "I guess she thought a heap of your mother. She—she'd like to see you, Mrs. Ball would."
The girl patted her hair into place with a languid hand. Her lips parted in a teasing smile. This "hick" really amused her.