Triplet looked out of the window.
“Sir Charles Pomander!” gasped he.
Sir Charles was at the very door. If, however, he had intended to mount the stairs he changed his mind, for he suddenly went off round the corner with a businesslike air, real or fictitious.
“He is gone, madam,” said Triplet.
Mrs. Vane, the better to escape detection or observation, wore a thick mantle and a hood that concealed her features. Of these Triplet debarrassed her.
“Sit down, madam;” and he hastily drew a chair so that her back was to the picture.
She was pale, and trembled a little. She hid her face in her hands a moment, then, recovering her courage, “she begged Mr. Triplet to pardon her for coming to him. He had inspired her with confidence,” she said; “he had offered her his services, and so she had come to him, for she had no other friend to aid her in her sore distress.” She might have added, that with the tact of her sex she had read Triplet to the bottom, and came to him, as she would to a benevolent, muscular old woman.
Triplet's natural impulse was to repeat most warmly his offers of service. He did so; and then, conscious of the picture, had a misgiving.
“Dear Mr. Triplet,” began Mrs. Vane, “you know this person, Mrs. Woffington?”
“Yes, madam,” replied Triplet, lowering his eyes, “I am honored by her acquaintance.”