"Yes," said I. "For I take it that if I deferred the visit till to-morrow, to-morrow might be own brother of to-day."
She knocked at the door twice and got no answer. I heard a man's voice exclaim acrimoniously:
"It was the worst mistake man ever made," and a woman cry in a passion—
"Or woman either. Deary me, I wish I were dead!"
And "Deary me, I wish it too," said my attendant, and impatiently she turned the handle and opened the door. A man sprang forwards. He was young, I noticed, of a delicate face, with a dark, bilious complexion.
"Mr. Anthony Herbert, I suppose," I said, taking off my hat, and I stepped into the room. The next moment I regretted nothing so much as that I had not taken the landlady's advice, for a woman sat at the table, with her face couched upon her arms, crying.
"Your business?" asked Mr. Herbert, abruptly, getting between myself and the table.
I turned my back to the room and looked out of the window, making as though I had not seen his wife.
"Lord Derwentwater showed me yesterday a picture of his wife painted by you," I said; and I unfolded the purport of my visit slowly. In the midst of my speech I heard the rustle of a dress and a door cautiously open and shut. A second or two later I turned back into the room; it was empty. The artist accepted the commission, and I arranged with him that he should set to work next day.
"I am afraid," he said awkwardly, as he bowed me from the room, "that you caught me at an inopportune moment."