Beside it, in a large resting-chair, with her feet upon a foot-cushion, reclined a very old lady, bent with age, and trembling with palsy. She was wrapped in a light-colored French chintz dressing-gown, and her shaking head was covered with a fine lace cap, whose deep borders softly shaded her silver hair and withered face.
“You’ve come to see me?” inquired the old lady, in a shrill and quivering voice.
“Yes, madam; I hope to see you in your usual health,” said the young man, bending his head.
“To business, sir,” snapped the old lady. “I suppose you come from Trent, my agent?”
“No, madam; I——”
“Then, what did you come for? I receive no visitors except upon business,” interrupted the old lady, impatiently.
“Pardon us, madam. We are friends of your niece; and not having heard from her for some weeks, and being on the point of leaving the city for the season, we came here to inquire about her.”
“About—whom?” demanded Miss Pole, in a shrill, impatient voice, as she began to tremble with excitement.
“Your niece, Miss Conyers.”
Shaking violently, the old lady moved her hand to the bell and rang it.