"The Peelers are here, George," he said. "I knew there'd be a row."
"I hope so," said Robinson; "I most sincerely hope so."
As he stood up to answer his senior partner he saw that Miss Brown was standing behind her father, and he resolved that, as regarded this occasion, he would not be taunted with want of spirit.
"But what shall I say to the man?" asked Mr. Brown.
"Give him a shilling and a glass of spirits; beg him to keep the people quiet outside, and promise him cold beef and beer at three o'clock. If he runs rusty, send for me." And then, having thus instructed the head of the house, he again seated himself before his writing materials at the table.
"Mr. Robinson," said a soft voice, speaking to him through the doorway, as soon as the ponderous step of the old man was heard descending the stairs.
"Yes; I am here," said he.
"I don't know whether I may open the door," said she; "for I would not for worlds intrude upon your studies."
He knew that she was a Harpy. He knew that her soft words would only bring him to new grief. But yet he could not help himself. Strong, in so much else, he was utterly weak in her hands. She was a Harpy who would claw out his heart and feed upon it, without one tender feeling of her own. He had learned to read her character, and to know her for what she was. But yet he could not help himself.
"There will be no intrusion," he said. "In half an hour from this time, I go with this copy to the printer's. Till then I am at rest."