Lawyer Merritt had risen to receive his unexpected visitor, and now stood facing the door, drawn up to his utmost height, with a very severe expression of countenance, and without a word of welcome on his lips.
Young Harcourt felt chilled and discouraged by such a want of welcome, and hastened to say, deprecatingly:
“Mr. Merritt, I should, perhaps, apologize for this intrusion, but I have come here on business in which I think one of your fair clients is interested.”
“Then take a seat, sir, and be good enough to let me know the precise nature of the business which has procured me the unlooked for honor of this call,” said the lawyer frigidly.
“Thank you, I will not sit,” said Harcourt, flushing deeply. “What I have to say may be said in a very few minutes.”
The lawyer bowed, and stood waiting, with one hand resting upon his desk.
“You received a telegram yesterday announcing the discovery of a child lost in the streets of New York, and ascertained to have been stolen from the custody of her guardian, Miss Fronde, at Goblin Hall?”
“I did receive such a telegram, sir, and answered it. May I inquire what you have to do with the matter?”
“Certainly. It was I who found the child, and through the intervention of a good woman, full of tact and delicacy, learned as much of the little one’s story as could be drawn from a creature of her tender years. I learned, in short, that the little Owlet was an orphan who had been adopted by Miss Fronde, between whom and herself there seemed to have been a strong bond of affection.”
“Well, sir,” said the lawyer in the same icy tone.