“Thirteen in July,” said the girl reluctantly, as if confessing a fault. But Mrs. Phillips was not waiting for a reply.
“Did you want to see me?” she asked rather rudely, “because, as you can see, I am on my way out.”
“I came to see Mr. Meadowcroft,” said Betty quietly.
“O, I’m sorry, but you see it’s really shockingly early,” Mrs. Phillips began. But the man at the door, though he didn’t interrupt, took advantage of her pause to say: “Mr. Meadowcroft said as how the young lady was to come right up, ma’am, as he’s expecting her.”
Mrs. Phillips shrugged her shoulders and went on without a word. She had never understood her brother’s vagaries and now he seemed “queerer” than ever to her. But she liked having him in the house, not only because he was so distinguished and elegant both in manner and appearance, but because he was a wonderful companion. And though she would have liked to manage his personal affairs as she had managed her husband’s, and those of everyone else within her sphere, she realized that she couldn’t keep him with her if she made any such attempt.
As Betty climbed the stair, it came to her that it would be a pleasanter world if people would choose their words in speaking to overgrown girls—to fat people, in short—just as they did for the lame and blind. It wasn’t, of course, the same, but it seemed sometimes as bad as a real affliction.
The door of the room the man had indicated stood open. As she knocked on the lintel, the girl drew her breath sharply. Aunt Sarah’s word “cripple” came up before her, making her forget all Tommy’s enthusiastic praise, and she shrank momentarily from what was before her. But bidden to enter, she complied without an instant’s delay, and went straight to the wheel-chair.
At first sight, however, Mr. Meadowcroft was so impressive and so charming that she couldn’t help feeling conscience-stricken for her moment of hesitation.
“Pardon my not rising, and pray make yourself comfortable, Miss Pogany,” he said in the pleasantest voice Betty had ever heard. “I am sorry I can’t tell you which chair is most comfortable, for Tommy Finnemore changes from one to another so frequently that I sometimes suspect they’re all like dentists’ chairs. However, that blue one doesn’t look so bad. You might try that.”
The blue chair was truly very comfortable. Moreover, it was small. Anyone else would have pointed out the largest in the room; and Betty sank into it gratefully.