To which little pleasantry Betty responded, looking very bright and pretty, with—“Can do!”
“She gives out too much,” thought Mrs. Hasmer; deciding then and there that the meeting should be brief and the conversation triangular.
Mr. Obie brought him, formally, from the smoking-room.
He bowed stiffly. Betty checked her natural impulse toward a hearty hard-grip.
Mrs. Hasmer, feeling hurried, a thought breathless, meant to offer him her husband's chair; but all in the moment Betty had him down beside her.
Then came stark silence. The man stared out at the islands.
Betty, finding her portfolio on her lap, fingered it. Then this:
“I must begin, Miss Doane, with an apology....”
Betty's responsive face blanched. “What a dreadful man!” she thought. His voice was rather strong, dry, hard, with, even, a slight rasp in it.
But he drove heavily on: