It was a kind of
unresolved borderland.
Berry went down the steps. Through the broken black fence of the orchard,
long grass showed yellow. The place seemed deserted. He knocked, then
knocked again. An elderly woman appeared. She looked like a housekeeper.
At first she said suspiciously that Mr. Sutton was not in.
'My uncle just put me down. He'll be in in ten minutes,' replied the
visitor.
'Oh, are you the Mr. Berry who is related to him?' exclaimed the elderly
woman. 'Come in--come in.'
She was at once kindly and a little bit servile. The young man entered.
It was an old house, rather dark, and sparsely furnished. The elderly
woman sat nervously on the edge of one of the chairs in a drawing-room
that looked as if it were furnished from dismal relics of dismal homes,
and there was a little straggling attempt at conversation. Mrs. Greenwell
was evidently a working class woman unused to service or to any
formality.
Presently she gathered up courage to invite her visitor into the
dining-room. There from the table under the window rose a tall, slim girl
with a cat in her arms. She was evidently a little more lady-like than
was habitual to her, but she had a gentle, delicate, small nature. Her
brown hair almost covered her ears, her dark lashes came down in shy
awkwardness over her beautiful blue eyes. She shook hands in a frank way,
yet she was shrinking. Evidently she was not sure how her position would
affect her visitor.
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