“Just say that I have come from her own neighborhood; or, better, say Mr. Tony Butler would be glad to see her.” He had scarcely been a moment in the neat but formal-looking front parlor, when a very tall, thin, somewhat severe-looking lady—not old, nor yet young—entered, and without any salutation said, “You asked for Miss Stewart, sir,—are you a relative of hers?”
“No, madam. My mother and Miss Stewart's father are neighbors and very old friends; and being by accident in London, I desired to see her, and bring back news of her to the doctor.”
“At her father's request, of course?”
“No, madam; I cannot say so, for I left home suddenly, and had no time to tell him of my journey.”
“Nor any letter from him?”
“None, madam.”
The thin lady pursed up her parched lips, and bent her keen cold eyes on the youth, who really felt his cheek grow hot under the scrutiny. He knew that his confession did not serve to confirm his position; and he heartily wished himself out of the house again.
“I think, then, sir,” said she, coldly, “it will serve every purpose if I inform you that Miss Stewart is well; and if I tell her that you were kind enough to call and ask after her.”
“I'm sure you are right, madam,” said he, hurriedly moving towards the door, for already he felt as if the ground was on fire beneath him,—“quite right; and I 'll tell the doctor that though I did n't see Miss Dora, she was in good health, and very happy.”
“I did n't say anything about her happiness, that I remember, sir; but as I see her now passing the door, I may leave that matter to come from her own lips. Miss Stewart,” cried she, louder, “there is a gentleman here, who has come to inquire after you.” A very pale but nicely featured young girl, wearing a cap,—her hair had been lately cut short in a fever,—entered the room, and, with a sudden flush that made her positively handsome, held out her hand to young Butler, saying, “Oh, Tony, I never expected to see you here! how are all at home?”