His soliloquy was suddenly brought to a termination by a gentle rap at the door, which was afterwards slowly swung back on its hinges, and Agatha, the pretty French waiting maid, presented herself.
“So you have kept your word, my pretty little tormentor,” cried his lordship. “It is almost more than I expected.”
“You have never known me to break my word,” returned the girl, “but we will not dispute on that point. I am here, as you see.”
“As I see.”
“And I am here for a purpose.”
“I do not doubt it, Agatha.”
The girl seemed to be in a sort of a tremour; possibly she half repented of her rash and imprudent act, for Lord Ethalwood, upon her entering the room, had carefully and almost noiselessly closed the door. This done, he led her to a seat.
“Ah,” sighed Agatha, “it is perhaps wrong of me to visit you thus, but I do not see any other way, and, so, pardon me, monsieur.”
“I have nothing to pardon,” returned his lordship. “On the contrary, I have reason to be grateful for your disinterested kindness, for I am sure you are prompted by nothing but the best and most unselfish motives in thus presenting yourself.”
The girl’s face became suffused with blushes as she listened to this complimentary speech.