In his haste he did not notice a long shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path, and it struck him smartly on the cheek.
"I'm afraid I startled you, Mrs.Bates," he said, smiling so pleasantly that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
"You did that, sir," agreed Mrs.Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant had just vacated.
Like most red-faced people, Mrs.Bates turned a bluish purple when alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant's smile was banished by a look of real concern.
"I'm very sorry," he said contritely.

"I had no notion you were in the room.

Shall I call Minnie ?" Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs.Bates's daughter and assistant, the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic establishment presided over by Grant.
"Nun-no, sir," stuttered the housekeeper.

"It's stupid of me.

But I'm not so young as I was, an' me heart jumps at little things." Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly.