Her eyelids fluttered more, and she said:—
"Wo—won't you sit down?" She wore mittens, and plucked at them.
"Thank you." Instinctively he lowered his voice, as if he were speaking to an invalid. "My excuse is rather unusual—I hope it won't appear to you preposterous. When I was a boy, your children and I used to be bosom friends, and I found myself in Sweetbay the other day for the first time since. I needn't tell you that I went to look at the house, and the desire to—to find them all again was very strong.... I was fortunate enough to learn that you had moved to Redhill, so I decided to risk your ridicule, and throw myself on your forbearance."
"Oh, not at all," she faltered. "I—I'm sure I—" Her nervousness seemed increased, rather than diminished, by his address. There was an awkward pause.
"I trust Dr. Page and—and my former comrades are all well?"
"Oh, thank you, yes they are all quite well."
He wished that Mary's were not the only name among them he could recall; "All well!" he said, forcing a hearty note, "All well! It's strange to me to think of them as grown-up. Time—er—brings many changes, madam?"
"Indeed," she concurred timorously; "as you say!" But she volunteered no news, and he began to feel that they were getting on slowly; his harassed gaze wandered to the china courtship.
"May I ask if they are still with you?" he ventured.
"My eldest daughter is married," she replied. "The others are ... I hope very soon. I—er don't quite understand when it was you knew them? While we were in Sweetbay, I think you said?"