Helplessly,
and with a little quaver in her voice, she repeated obstinately:
"I was making some tea, and I thought you would like to have a cup of
tea." Her agitation betrayed itself in the repetition of the word. She
felt that she could not hold the tray out another instant. Already she
was trembling so that half the tea was spilled.
Old Grannis still kept silence, still bending forward, with wide eyes,
his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
Then with the tea-tray still held straight before her, the little
dressmaker exclaimed tearfully:
"Oh, I didn't mean--I didn't mean--I didn't know it would seem like
this. I only meant to be kind and bring you some tea; and now it seems
SO improper. I--I--I'm SO ashamed! I don't know what you will think
of me. I--" she caught her breath--"improper"--she managed to exclaim,
"unlady-like--you can never think well of me--I'll go. I'll go." She
turned about.
"Stop," cried Old Grannis, finding his voice at last. Miss Baker paused,
looking at him over her shoulder, her eyes very wide open, blinking
through her tears, for all the world like a frightened child.
"Stop," exclaimed the old Englishman, rising to his feet. "I didn't know
it was you at first.
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