"Come in," she said.
With no more greeting than that she ushered me into a small room crowded with books and apparatus. The table held a curious microscope, evidently home-made in most of its fittings. Pieces of mechanism, the purpose of which I could not even guess, were strewn about the floor. Castings were gripped angle-wise in vices, and at the end of an ordinary carpenter's bench stood a small blacksmith's furnace, with bellows and anvil all complete. In the recess, half hidden by a screen, I could catch a glimpse of a lathe. There was no carpet on the floor.
The door opened and a small spare man stood before me, the deprecation of an offending dog in his beautiful brown eyes. He did not speak or offer to shake hands, but only stood shyly looking up at me. It was some time before I could find words. Nance often tells me that I need a push behind to enable me to take the lead in any conversation—except with herself, that is, and then I never get a chance.
"I beg your pardon, doctor," said I, "I was seeking my friend Campbell. I did not know you had settled amongst us, or I should have been to call on you before this."
I held out my hand cordially, for the man appealed to me somehow. But he did not seem to notice it.
"No, not 'doctor,'" he said, speaking in a quick agitated way. "Mister—Roger is my name."
"I beg your pardon, I am sure," I stammered; "in that case I do not know how to excuse my intrusion. I asked for the doctor, meaning Dr. Campbell, and your servant——"
"My mother, sir!"
There was pride as well as challenge in the brown eyes now, and I found myself liking the young man better than ever.
"I beg your pardon—Mrs. Roger showed me in by mistake, I fear."