The door opened and Mrs. Mansfield came in. Heath went toward her and took her hands eagerly. This evening he felt less independent than he usually did, and in need of a real friend.
"What is it?" she said, after a look at him.
"Why should it be anything special?"
"But it is!"
He laughed almost uneasily.
"I wish I hadn't a face that gives me away always!" he exclaimed. "Though to you I don't mind very much. Well, I wanted to ask you two or three things, if I may."
Mrs. Mansfield sat down on her favorite sofa, with her feet on a stool.
"Anything," she said.
"Do you mind telling me exactly what you thought of my music the other evening? Did you—did you think it feeble stuff? Did you, perhaps, think it"—he paused—"provincial?" he concluded, with an effort.
"Provincial!"