If Mr. Middleton expected Tom to reply in a similar manner, he soon realized his mistake. Our hero was not one of the gushing kind.
“All right,” he answered coolly. “Will you help me in with my trunk?”
Mr. Middleton mechanically obeyed, not seeing his way clear to any more sentiment.
Mrs. Middleton appeared in the front entry as the trunk was set down.
“Corinthia, my dear, this is the son of my deceased friend, Stephen Temple.”
Mrs. Middleton’s thin figure was clad in a thin, slazy silk of very scant pattern, and her pinched features wore an artificial smile.
“How do you do, Mr. Temple?” she said.
“I’m well, but hungry,” responded Tom readily.
“Is tea nearly ready, Corinthia?” asked her husband.
“It will be ready in fifteen minutes. If you will show Mr. Temple to his room, he won’t have long to wait.”