Benjamin Wright, tottering a little, changed his cane from his left to his right hand, and chewed orange-skin fiercely. "I have called, madam—"
But she interrupted him. "Won't you come in and sit down, sir? And pray allow me to get you a glass of wine."
"Come in? No, madam, no. We are simple rustics here in Old Chester; we must not presume to intrude upon a lady of such fashion as you. I fear that some of us have already presumed too much"—he paused for breath, but lifted one veined old hand to check her protest—"too much, I say! Far too much! I come, madam, to apologize, and to tell you—" Again he stopped, panting; "to tell you that I insist that you forbid further intrusion—at least on the part of my grandson."
"But," she said, the color hot in her face, "he does not intrude. I don't know what you mean. I—"
"Oh, madam, you are too kind, I am sure you know what I mean; it is your excessive kindness that permits the visits of a foolish boy—wearying, I am sure, to a lady so accustomed to the world. I will ask you to forbid those visits. Do you hear me?" he cried shrilly, pounding the gravel with his cane. "Gad-a-mercy! Do you hear me? You will forbid his visits!"
"You are not very polite, Mr. Old Gentleman," said David thoughtfully.
"David!" Helena protested.
Benjamin Wright, looking down at the little figure planted in front of her, seemed to see him for the first time.
"Who is this! Your child?"
"A little boy who is visiting me," she said. "David, run away."