Mr. Effingham's barometrical mercury rose as quickly as it fell. "A woman!" he said, as he settled his limp collar and gave a pull at his dirty wristbands,--"a woman, Sir Charles! Oh, then, I've no fear."
"Wait and hear what you're required to do, sir, before you give an opinion. The person to whom I allude is at the present moment in this house. She is therefore, although not invited by me, to a certain extent my guest, and it would be impossible for me to appear in the matter. You comprehend me?"
"Perfectly."
"Especially as she is to be got rid of at once and for ever. When I say 'got rid of,' I don't mean it in the slang phrase of the penny romances--I don't mean that the woman is to be killed; but simply that she is to be told that she must remain here no longer, and the danger of doing so must be strongly pointed out to her."
"Exactly, je twig! Now will you please to tell me the name of this good lady, and what reason I'm to give for insisting on her leaving such a very swell and pleasant crib as this appears to be?"
"She is called here Miss Gillespie," said Sir Charles; "but You will have heard of her under a very different name--Lizzie Ponsford."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Effingham, leaping from his chair; "Lizzie Ponsford here! She whom I've been--"
"Well, sir?" asked Sir Charles in astonishment.
"Whom I've been hearing so much about!" said Mr. Effingham, recovering himself. "Lizzie Ponsford here!" he continued, going off again. "Well, that is a rum start!"
"Be good enough to attend to me, sir. She is here, and she is in my way. Her presence worries me, bringing back all sorts of hideous associations that I thought I had got rid of, and never want to have revived. You must see her, talk to her, and get her to go at once; once gone, I could so arrange matters as to leave little chance of her returning."