“P'r'aps he'll turn up after all,” said Mr. Letts. “Never say die.”
Mrs. Green shook her head.
“I s'pose,” said Mr. Letts, regarding her—“I s'pose you don't let lodgings for a night or two?” Mrs. Green shook her head again.
“It don't matter,” said the young man. “Only I would sooner stay with you than at a lodging-house. I've taken a fancy to you. I say, it would be a lark if you did, and I went there and your husband thought I was your son, wouldn't it?”
Mrs. Green caught her breath, and sitting down again took his arm in her trembling fingers.
“Suppose,” she said, unsteadily—“suppose you came round and pretended to be my son—pretended to be my son, and stood up for me?”
Mr. Letts stared at her in amazement, and then began to laugh.
“Nobody would know,” continued the other, quickly. “We only came to this place just before he sailed, and his sister was only ten at the time. She wouldn't remember.”
Mr. Letts said he couldn't think of it, and sat staring, with an air of great determination, at the sea. Arguments and entreaties left him unmoved, and he was just about to express his sorrow for her troubles and leave, when she gave a sudden start and put her arm through his.
“Here comes your sister!” she exclaimed.