The conversation was continued for some time after this, but we must for the present leave the young people to themselves to pay a visit to one of the upper apartments of the widow’s house.
While Lady Marvlynn’s guests were engaged in conversation in the concert-room, and Lord Fitzbogleton was engaged in whispering soft nothings into the ear of the fascinating Arabella Lovejoyce, a far different scene was taking place in a chamber above.
James Jabez Jones, her ladyship’s footman, was sent up by one of his fellow-servants for his mistress’s fan, for her ladyship by this time began to feel the heat oppressive. She had had a day of considerable toil and anxiety, and was consequently in what might be termed a state of flustration.
Now, when Mr. Jones ascended the stairs, in search of the fan in question, he was a little surprised at hearing a sort of subdued noise in one of the upstair rooms.
James Jones was a cautious, careful man—so when the sounds, which were altogether new and strange to him, fell upon his ears, he came to a sudden halt and listened more intently.
Some one was evidently moving about in an adjoining apartment: of that he felt perfectly well assured.
Who could it be? was the very natural question he asked himself. Not any one of the visitors, for they were all below—probably it might be one of the maid servants. The door of the room was partially open, and through the crevice of this he peeped in. He then saw the figure of a man moving about in what he deemed a stealthy manner.
Mr. Jones was surprised—indeed, it might be said astounded.
From what he could make out, the person in the room was a short elderly man, with a long coat and a sort of wide-awake hat.
“Haint up to no good, I fancy,” murmured James Jones; “leastways that’s my ’pinion. Who the devil can he be, and what brings him here?”