The housekeeper held the door half way open, and evidently meant to
prevent Paul from entering. If he had been less determined, or more
easily abashed, he would have given up his purpose. But Number 91 had a
will of his own.
“I don’t accept a dismissal from you, madam,” he said, eying Mrs.
Mercer with a steady glance. “I demand to see Mrs. Granville.”
“Hoity toity! Who are you, I’d like to know?” demanded the housekeeper,
amazed and exasperated.
“A visitor to Mrs. Granville,” answered Paul; “you, I suppose, are a
servant.”
“Do you dare to call me a servant, you impudent boy?” answered Mrs.
Mercer, raising her voice.
“What are you, then?” asked Paul, calmly.
“I am Mrs. Mercer, the housekeeper, I’d have you to know.”
“So I suppose, and Mrs. Granville is your employer. By what right do
you dare to send away her visitors?”
Mrs. Mercer was quite unused to being defied so boldly, and she could
hardly express her indignation.
“Well, I never heard of such impudence!” she ejaculated.
In her anger she would have closed the door, but just at that moment a
voice was heard from the floor above--the voice of Mrs. Granville, who
had been attracted by the housekeeper’s loud tones.
“What is all this, Mrs. Mercer?” she asked, in a tone of authority.
“It’s a boy who wants to force his way in, ma’am,” said Mrs. Mercer, in
a sulky tone.
“What boy is it?” asked her mistress.
Paul answered this question himself.
“I come from New York with a letter from your niece, Mrs. Holbrook,” he
said.
“Then come in at once,” said the old lady, in an imperative tone. “Why
did you not admit him at once?”
“I didn’t know,” answered the housekeeper, confused.
“I beg your pardon,” said Paul, “I told you this, and you said Mrs.
Granville had a headache, and would not see me.”
“What do you mean by this misrepresentation, Mrs. Mercer?” demanded the
old lady, sternly.
“I offered to take the letter up to you,” said Mrs. Mercer, a little
alarmed at the evident anger of her mistress.
“When Mrs. Granville reads the letter she will understand why I
preferred to hand it to her myself.”
“Why did you say I had a headache? Why do you presume to send away my
visitors, Mrs. Mercer?” demanded the old lady, thoroughly aroused.
“I meant it for the best,” said the woman, sulkily.
“Never presume so far again. Now, young man, come up and let me see
you.”
Paul passed the discomfited housekeeper, and, going upstairs, followed
the old lady into a pleasant sitting room.
“I am sorry to have been the means of disturbing you,” said Paul,
politely. “Mrs. Holbrook sends you this letter, and wishes me to give
you her love.”
“You are a nice looking boy,” said the old lady, letting her glance
rest approvingly on Number 91. “I hope Louisa is well.”
“Very well, thank you.”
She put on her glasses, and read the letter.
“So you are Paul Parton,” she said, as she folded up the letter.
“Yes, madam.”
“A New York boy?”
“Yes, madam.”
“I am afraid you will find it dull here.”
“O no, Mrs. Granville, I am sure I shall like the country, for a while
at least.”
“Do you know how to drive?”
“Oh, yes; I am used to horses.”
“On the whole, I am glad Louisa sent you down here. Frost Mercer, who
usually drives me, has been getting lazy of late, and makes excuses
when I want to go out.”
“I won’t do that, Mrs. Granville. I shall be only too glad to go.”
“You are sure you won’t upset me?”
“I don’t believe I shall,” answered Paul, smiling. “I don’t care about
being upset myself.”
“I think, on the whole, I shall like to have a boy about,” said the old
lady, thoughtfully.
“I am afraid Mrs. Mercer might object to me.”
“I am the mistress of the house. Mrs. Mercer is only the housekeeper,”
said the old lady, with an unwonted assumption of dignity. “Please ring
the bell, Paul.”
Paul did so.
Presently the housekeeper entered in answer to the summons. She looked
askance at Paul.
“Mrs. Mercer,” said her mistress, “you will prepare a room for this
young gentleman. He will remain here, for the present.”
Mrs. Mercer looked disagreeably surprised.
“Perhaps you had better read this letter from my niece, Mrs. Holbrook,
as it will save explanations.”
The housekeeper read the letter, and her thin lips tightened with
displeasure.
“There is no need of your getting a boy to drive you around, ma’am,”
she said. “My son is perfectly able to do it.”
“Your son is very apt to be engaged when I want to drive out,” returned
the old lady, dryly.
“I will see that it don’t happen again,” said the housekeeper, anxious
to keep Paul out of the house.
“There is no occasion for that. Mind, I don’t blame your son. Paul here
will have nothing else to do, and can drive me as well as not. Besides,
he will read to me, and spare my eyes.”
“Frost would be willing to read to you.”
Mrs. Granville smiled.
“I don’t think reading aloud is one of your son’s accomplishments,” she
said. “His voice is not exactly musical.”
This was certainly true, for Frost Mercer had a voice deep and
croaking, like a frog’s.
“I am sorry you are so prejudiced against my poor boy,” said Mrs.
Mercer, mortified and displeased.
“You are a foolish woman, Mrs. Mercer. I am only going to make it
easier for Frost, and give this young gentleman something to do. Paul,
you may go with Mrs. Mercer, and take possession of your room. Go where
you please, till half past twelve, our dinner hour. After dinner, I may
take a drive.”
“You’d better get your life insured, then, ma’am,” muttered Mrs.
Mercer. “Boys ain’t to be trusted with horses.”
“Is your horse very lively or skittish?” asked Paul.
“No,” answered Mrs. Granville. “He is very gentle and tractable.”
“Then I don’t think there is any need of insuring your life, Mrs.
Granville.”
“_I_ wouldn’t ride out with you,” said the housekeeper, spitefully.
“Perhaps you will think better of me after a while, Mrs. Mercer,” said
Paul, good naturedly.
The housekeeper closed her lips firmly and shook her head.
“I’ve made one enemy, that’s clear,” said Paul to himself--“probably
two, for the housekeeper’s son isn’t likely to be my friend.”
Mrs. Mercer led the way to a small room on the next floor.
“You can go in there,” she said, ungraciously.
“Thank you,” said Paul.
It occurred to him to wonder why so small a room should be assigned
him, while there seemed to be plenty of larger ones. In the arrangement
of the room, however, there was nothing to be desired. Everything was
neat and comfortable. To Paul, accustomed to a shabby tenement house,
it seemed luxurious, and he was disposed to enjoy it for the time, be
it long or short.