“Just a caller on a business matter,” I answered, hurriedly. “I'll be out at once, Dorinda.”
“But who is it, Roscoe?”
“It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to—”
“Dorinda,” Mother interrupted me, “ask Mr. Colton to come in here.”
“But, Mother—”
“Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him.”
Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us hesitated long. She disappeared. A moment later the door opened wide and Colton entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to semidarkness bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood there without speaking. Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out and closed the door. I stepped forward.
“Good morning, Mr. Colton,” I said, as calmly as I could. “You have never met my mother, I think. Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our neighbor.”
Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. And when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
“Roscoe,” she said, quickly, “will you draw that window-shade a little more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, I am very glad to meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, and I have met your daughter. She has been very kind to me, in many ways. Won't you sit down?”