Larry stood before her too shy to speak.
"Is it word from Dan you're bringin' me?" she encouraged. "But there, now, I'm forgettin' me manners! Come in, an' I'll be makin' you a cup of tea." She took his arm impulsively, with the frank comradeship of a young woman for a man much older than herself, and led him to a chair.
Larry sat ready for flight, his cap held stiffly across his knees. He watched every movement of the girl, a look of pathetic meekness in his eyes.
"You're right, Mrs. Sullivan," he said after an effort; "Dan was askin' me to step in on my way to the ship."
She turned quickly from the stove.
"You're not tellin' me now Dan ain't comin' himself, an' the boat leavin' this night?"
Larry was plainly uneasy.
"Well, you see—it's—now it's just like I'm tellin' you, Mrs. Sullivan; he's that important to the chief, is Dan, they can't get on without him to-day at all."
"Then bad luck, I say, to the chief! Look at the grand supper I'm after fixin' for Dan!"
"Oh, Mary—Mrs. Sullivan, don't be speakin' disrespectful' of the chief, an' him thinkin' so highly of Dan!"