"
"But whatever you do, don't let 'em into my room," he went on, after
a frowning pause.
"You mean your library, father? I'm having the ceiling whitened.
It--it needed it."
"I mean my bedroom, child. I won't have workmen pottering about in
there."
"But you won't mind if they paint the woodwork, father? It--has grown
quite yellow in places."
"Nonsense, my dear! Why, I had all the paint upstairs gone over--let
me see--"
And he fell into one of his heavy moods of introspection which
seemed, indeed, not far removed from torpor.
When she had at last roused him with an animated description of the
vegetable garden, he appeared to have forgotten his objections to
having workmen enter his chamber. And Lydia was careful not to recall
it to his mind.
She was still sitting before his desk, ostensibly absorbed in the
rows of incomprehensible figures Deacon Whittle, as general
contractor, had urged upon her attention, when Martha again parted
the heavy cloud of her thoughts.
"The minister, come to see you again," she announced, with a slight
but mordant emphasis on the ultimate word.
"Yes," said Lydia, rousing herself, with an effort. "Mr. Elliot, you
said?"
"I s'pose that's his name," conceded Martha ungraciously. "I set him
in the dining room. It's about the only place with two chairs in it;
an' I shan't have no time to make more lemonade, in case you wanted
it, m'm."
Chapter XIV
The Reverend Wesley Elliot, looking young, eager and pleasingly
worldly in a blue serge suit of unclerical cut, rose to greet her as
she entered.
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