The breakfast over, Mr. Kendrick took them to his own private rooms, to
show them a painting of which he had been telling them. Richard
accompanied them, having constituted himself chief assistant to Mrs.
Gray, to whom he had taken a boyish liking which was steadily growing.
Establishing her in a comfortable armchair, he sat down beside her.
"Now, Mr. Richard," said she, presently, while Mr. Matthew Kendrick and
her husband were discussing an interesting question over their cigars in
an adjoining room--Mr. Kendrick's adherence to the code of an earlier
day making it impossible for him to think of smoking in the presence of
a lady--"I wonder if there isn't something you would let me do for you.
You and your grandfather living alone, so, you must have things that
need a woman's hand. While I sit here I'd enjoy mending some socks or
gloves for you."
Richard looked at her. The sincerity of her offer was so evident that he
could not turn it aside with an evasion or a refusal. But he had not an
article in the world that needed mending. When things of his reached
that stage they were invariably turned over to his man, Bliss.
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