The man who had opened the door was not

　　The man who had opened the door was not, judged by any standard ofregularity of features, handsome. He had a rather boyish face, pleasanteyes set wide apart, and a friendly mouth. He was rather an outsize inyoung men, and as he stood there he seemed to fill the doorway.
　　It was this sense of bigness that he conveyed, his cleanness, hismagnificent fitness, that for the moment overcame Mrs. Porter. Physicalfitness was her gospel. She stared at him in silent appreciation.
　　To the young man, however, her forceful gaze did not convey thisquality. She seemed to him to be looking as if she had caught him inthe act of endeavouring to snatch her purse. He had been thrown alittle off his balance by the encounter.
　　Resource in moments of crisis is largely a matter of preparedness, anda man, who, having opened his door in the expectation of seeing aginger-haired, bow-legged, grinning George Pennicut, is confronted by amasterful woman with eyes like gimlets, may be excused for not guessingthat her piercing stare is an expression of admiration and respect.
　　Mrs. Porter broke the silence. It was ever her way to come swiftly tothe matter in hand.
　　"Mr. Kirk Winfield?""Yes.""Have you in your employment a red-haired, congenital idiot who amblesabout New York in an absent-minded way, as if he were on a desertisland? The man I refer to is a short, stout Englishman,louis vuitton for womens, clean-shaven,dressed in black.""That sounds like George Pennicut.""I have no doubt that that is his name. I did not inquire. It did notinterest me. My name is Mrs. Lora Delane Porter. This man of yours hasjust run into my automobile.""I beg your pardon?""I cannot put it more lucidly. I was driving along the street when thisweak-minded person flung himself in front of my car. He is out therenow. Kindly come and help him in.""Is he hurt?""More frightened than hurt. I have examined him. His left knee appearsto be slightly wrenched."Kirk Winfield passed a hand over his left forehead and followed her.
　　Like George, he found Mrs. Porter a trifle overwhelming.
　　Out in the street George Pennicut, now the centre of quite asubstantial section of the Four Million, was causing a granite-facedpoliceman to think that the age of miracles had returned by informinghim that the accident had been his fault and no other's. He greeted therelief-party with a wan grin.
　　"Just broke my leg, sir," he announced to Kirk.
　　"You have done nothing of the sort," said Mrs,fake uggs for sale. Porter. "You havewrenched your knee very slightly,mont blanc pens. Have you explained to the policemanthat it was entirely your fault?""Yes, ma'am.""That's right. Always speak the truth.""Yes,Designer Handbags, ma'am.""Mr. Winfield will help you indoors.""Thank you, ma'am."She turned to Kirk.
　　"Now, Mr. Winfield."Kirk bent over the victim, gripped him, and lifted him like a baby.
　　"He's got his," observed one interested spectator.
　　"I should worry!" agreed another. "All broken up.""Nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Porter severely. "The man is hardlyhurt at all. Be more accurate in your remarks."She eyed the speaker sternly. He wilted.
　　"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled sheepishly.