Mr. Landholm walked down stairs into Mrs. Nettley's sanctum, where the good lady was diligently at work in kitchen affairs.
"Mrs. Nettley, will you leave your brother and me to keep things together here, and go into the country with this bereaved friend of mine?"
Mrs. Nettley stood still with her hands in the dough of her bread and looked at the maker of this extraordinary proposition.
"Into the country, Mr. Landholm! — When?"
"Perhaps this afternoon — in two or three hours."
"Dear Mr. Landholm! —"
"Dear Mrs. Nettley."
"But it's impossible."
"Is it?"
"Why — What does she want me for, Mr. Landholm?"