"But you don't like to think of anyone not understanding that Mrs. Doveton is the best of mothers?—we quite understand. It was quite natural she should want to talk it over with you."
"Always has done," said he, "ever since I was quite a little nipper, my dad being brought home a corpse owing to the capsizing of a crane, and she hadn't anyone else to talk things over with. And you must talk to someone."
"Yes, indeed," said Jane cordially. "Well, I'm very glad you and your mother are coming to take care of our house. And we should never think anything of her that wasn't good. We know well enough that she's a dear."
"Then that's all," he said, and got up suddenly as a Jack-in-the-box. "I only wanted to be sure you didn't think mother didn't care. And you don't. Good-night, miss—I mean good-night and thank you," and with that he at last raised his eyes, and they were beautiful eyes. Clear and grey and bright, and they looked straight at you, as a man's eyes ought to look. And when the girls shook hands with him he grasped their hands as a man should grasp a hand, and he no longer seemed clumsy or awkward as he said: "And if there's any little repairs required in the house I'm quite competent. I'll begin by oiling your gate. I'm attending evening classes at the Polytechnic. I'm a clerk at present, but I'm going to be an engineer; and I mustn't waste your time, miss. I mean I mustn't waste your time. Good-night, I'm sure."
And he went out, stumbling over the red sheepskin slip-mat and stumbling again over the front-door mat that said "Salve."
"Well," said Lucilla, as they heard the gate creak to behind him.
"Yes, I know," said Jane. "Don't rub it in. I'm going to write a book about life, and the first thing in it will be, 'Far more people are nice to you than you've any right to expect.'"
"And there's another young man to add to our collection," said Lucilla.
