Alexandra rose when the varlet made his appearance. She did not keep a heart, and she did keep a large stock of vanity. She was consequently quite ready to throw over Clement Winkfield as soon as ever a more eligible suitor should present himself; and her idea of mankind ranged them in two classes—such as were, and such as were not, eligible suitors for Alexandra Altham.
Mr Altham, however, led his guest straight through the shop and upstairs, thus cutting short Miss Altham’s wiles and graces. He took him into what we should call his study, a very little room close to his bedchamber, and motioned him to the only chair it contained; for chairs were rare and choice things, the form or bench being the usual piece of furniture. Before shutting the door, however, he called—“Phyllis!”
Somebody unseen to the varlet answered the call, and received directions in a low voice. Mr Altham then came in and shut the door.
“I have bidden the maid bring us hypocras and spice,” said he; “so you shall have a look at her.”
Hypocras was a very light wine, served as tea now is in the afternoon, and spice was a word which covered all manner of good things—not only pepper, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmegs, but rice, almonds, ginger, and even gingerbread.
Mr Tynneslowe—for so the varlet was named—sat down in the chair, and awaited the tray and Amphillis.
Chapter Two.
The Goldsmith’s Daughter.