The next morning, as soon as ever breakfast was over, and Edward had gone down to his office in L—nc—n’s I—n, I retired from the public sitting-room, to my private bed room; and as it was a fine morning, and would be the first time that I had ever spoken to Mr. B——e on business, I thought it would be better to put on my best bonnet (a black velvet one, with a black bird of Paradise in it,) which I had worn as yet only on Sundays, at church; and having done so, I made the best of my way towards Fleet-street.
When I reached the door of the shop, I really had scarcely courage to turn the handle; I had often heard of the nervousness of Genius, but never before had experienced the feeling myself. I’m sure, I felt as if my heart were in my mouth; and anybody that had wished, might have knocked me down with a feather. So, to bring myself round, I looked at some of the sweet, pretty engravings in the front of the shop; and having just passed my handkerchief over my face, and arranged my bonnet and hair as well as I could, in the plate-glass windows, I at last summoned up strength to enter.
Standing by the fire, in the shop, was a good-looking young man, of a dark complexion, and dressed in a tail-coat, who advanced towards me as I entered. “Mr. B——e, I presume,” I said, addressing him, with an amiable smile.
“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, in a tone of becoming diffidence.
“Thank you,” I replied, with a lady-like curtsey, and immediately stepped into the room alluded to.
He was engaged in packing some elegantly bound books, and was a tall, thin, young man, in a surtout, with not much colour in his face, which was, nevertheless, full of meaning. As soon as I had caught his eye—(which was a black one,)—I said, in a graceful manner, “I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. B——e.”
“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, with charming respect.
“You are extremely good,” I answered, curtseying, as before; and passing on into the adjoining apartment, which was a counting-house. There I observed a young man, with a Grecian nose, and grey Irish eyes, and a buff kerseymere waistcoat, seated at a desk, very busy.
“Mr. B——e, if I’m not mistaken?” I asked, in an attractive, bland voice.
He looked up, and answered, evidently moved by my manner, “That is Mr. B——e, ma’m;” and he pointed to a gentleman, of prepossessing exterior, who was seated on the opposite side of the desk, with his thoughts evidently wrapt up in a brown paper parcel (probably the manuscript of some popular author) he was undoing.