“He aint altogether what you might call a nice-tempered, amiable sort of gentleman,” murmured Rawton, as he seated himself on the well-worn sofa in the room to which he had been conducted. “He’s far from that, I’m thinking; but then we all of us have our faults and weaknesses. Shortness of temper seems to be one of his. I confess I can’t quite tumble to him. However, we shall see how he turns out as time goes on. It’s jolly hard lines for a cove to be dependent on a stranger, but he aint the sort of man to do the generous all for nothing; leastways that’s my private opinion. I hope I don’t do the gentleman an injustice.”
Mr. Rawton whistled and beat a tattoo on the head of the sofa just to beguile the tedium of the hour. As he was thus engaged he heard the sound of voices, which appeared to come from the front parlour of the establishment. He paused and listened attentively; then he turned pale, and his heart seemed to sink within him. He listened again—two persons were conversing. One voice was strangely familiar to him.
He rose from the sofa, and walked hurriedly across the room. He partially opened the door, and stood spell-bound with astonishment.
“It’s many a long year since I heard that voice, or rather a voice like it; for I must be mistaken—it aint likely, and it’s well-nigh impossible; and yet the sound is so unmistakeable that it seems to knock me over.”
He heard the light step of a female in the passage. He opened the door and peeped out. A maid-servant was passing along the passage.
“I say, my dear, just a word with you, if you please,” said Mr. Rawton.
“I am not your dear, sir,” returned the girl, with a pout.
“Beg pardon, meant no offence, but you see I don’t happen to know your name.”
“Well, what do you want?” cried the girl.
“May I ask who it was I heard talking in yonder room?”