"Good evening," he said. "I thought I'd just call round."
"Come in," said Lucilla. Gardener or guest, one could not forbid him the parlour. Once in it, he sat down obediently when he was told to, and said for the third time:
"I thought I'd just call round."
"Yes," said Jane helpfully, and, as a sudden inspiration came to her, "Are you Mr. Herbert Doveton?"
"Oh yes, thank you," he answered gratefully, and still his eyes followed the intricacies, of the Brussels carpet's floral garlands. "My mother told me about what you'd offered us, and I give you my word I couldn't hardly—I mean I could hardly believe my ears. And when she told me that she hadn't accepted of your kind offer on the nail—I mean immediately—but wanted to talk it over with me. So I said, 'Oh, mother! . . .' But I mean I thought I'd better come round and say at once that we accept your kind offer and thank you most kindly."
"You thought you'd like to get the matter settled?" said Jane, rather cruelly, but not so cruelly as you might think, because she did not dream that the youth would understand the little sneer. But he did; he blushed a heavy crimson and bit his lip. Then he said:
"I don't wonder you thinking it was just me wanting to snap up a good thing."
"Oh no," said Jane, herself blushing miserably.
"But really it wasn't. It was only . . . I thought it looked so, mother not saying yes at once. I thought you'd think she didn't appreciate you being so kind and thoughtful. But mother is like that. It doesn't mean anything. As often as not if I buy her some trifle, or make her a fretwork bracket or what-not, or bring home a bit of relish for supper, as often as not she don't hardly seem to notice it, or says she doesn't know where it's to hang, and the fire's out, and so on. And then weeks after she'll let drop a word showing she's laid it up and pondered on it in her heart and thought much more of it than it was worth. And the same with you. And that's all, and I beg your pardon for troubling you, but"
