Framton Nuttel endeavored to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come.
My aunt will be down presently, Mr Nuttel. In the meantime, you must try and put up with me.
Privately, he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession to total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.
I know how it will be. You will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I remember, were quite nice.
Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton came into the nice division.
Do you know many of the people round here?
Hardly a soul. My sister was staying here, at the rectory , you know some four years ago, and she gave the letter of introduction to some of the people here.
Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?
Only her name and address.
Mr Nuttel wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton was married or was a widow. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.
Her great tragedy happened just three years ago, that would be your sister's time.
You may wonder why we keep that window open on an October afternoon?
It's quite warm for the time of the year. But, has the window got anything to do with the tragedy?