“Not to-night,” he replied.
“Are you not expected to be there?”
“No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court.”
While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a candle.
“Good-night!” he said to his sisters. “I won’t see you again to-night,” and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his hand.
“Where is your brother going?” Dionysia asked eagerly.
“To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of the staircase.”
Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunity slip,—an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering up all her courage, she said,—
“But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my dear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment.” And she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the poor lady of reason.
The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key of his room.