"But he is—that is, he is not exactly—"
"What is he, and what is he not, exactly?" asked Miss Todd.
"Why, he is a tradesman, you know," said Miss Baker.
"There's no harm that I know of in that," said Miss Todd. "My uncle that left me my money was a tradesman."
"No," said Miss Baker, energetically; "he was a merchant in Liverpool."
"You'll find it very hard to define the difference, my dear," said Miss Todd. "At any rate I'll ask the man to come;—that is, if it won't offend you."
"It won't in the least offend me," said Miss Baker.
So a note was at once written and sent in to Miss Mackenzie, in which she was asked to bring Mr Rubb with her on that evening. When the note reached Miss Mackenzie, Mr Rubb was still with her.
Of course she communicated to him the invitation. She wished that it had not been sent; she wished that he would not accept it,—though on that head she had no doubt; but she had not sufficient presence of mind to keep the matter to herself and say nothing about it. Of course he was only too glad to drink tea with Miss Todd. Miss Mackenzie attempted some slight manœuvre to induce Mr Rubb to go direct to Miss Todd's house; but he was not such an ass as that; he knew his advantage, and kept it, insisting on his privilege of coming there, to Miss Mackenzie's room, and escorting her. He would have to escort Miss Baker also; and things, as he thought, were looking well with him. At last he rose to go, but he made good use of the privilege of parting. He held Miss Mackenzie's hand, and pressed it.
"You mustn't be angry," he said, "if I tell you that you are the best friend I have in the world."