"Hotel? Of course not," she said, bewildered.
What a queer old man, to drop from the skies like this—and so perfectly at his ease about it! Was he Laurence's father or an impostor? Was it right to take him in? He did not look as if he had money enough to stay at the hotel. Certainly she couldn't turn Laurence's father out!
"Come in," she repeated with an effort, turning toward the library doors, then stopping. "Wouldn't you like some supper?"
"No, thank you, I dined at the hotel."
"Is your baggage there? I'll send for it."
"No baggage. I haven't any," he said, with his whimsical smile. "I travel light."
In consternation Mary led the way into the library. No baggage! He must be a vagabond. To disappear for twenty-five years, and come back like this, as if it were yesterday! It was certainly not a respectable proceeding. He hadn't even an overcoat. Nothing but the worn felt hat, which he had still carried in his hand as he followed her—as if he were a casual visitor, come to stay half an hour....
She felt the chill of the big dimly-lit room, and went toward the chimney-place. "There's a fire all ready here—"
"Let me light it," he said.