"I'm a lonely old man."
His niece sank into an easy chair, and looked about her.
"Thank you," she said, slowly. "I hope I shall. I feel better already.
There is so much to upset one in London."
"Noise?" queried Mr. Mott.
"And other things," said Miss Garland, with a slight shudder.
Mr. Mott sighed in sympathy with the unknown, and, judging by his niece's
expression, the unknowable. He rearranged the teacups, and, going to the
kitchen, returned in a few minutes with a pot of tea.
"Mrs. Pett leaves at three," he said, in explanation, "to look after her
children, but she comes back again at eight to look after my supper. And
how is your mother?"
Miss Garland told him.
"Last letter I had from her," said Mr. Mott, stealing a glance at the
girl's ring-finger, "I understood you were engaged."
His niece drew herself up.
"Certainly not," she said, with considerable vigour. "I have seen too
much of married life. I prefer my freedom. Besides, I don't like men."
Mr. Mott said modestly that he didn't wonder at it, and, finding the
subject uncongenial, turned the conversation on to worthier subjects.
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