'Indeed, madam,' Mr Bayfield said, 'I think Miss Palmer is scarce fitted to bear these heavy books. I venture to take them from her, by your leave.'
'Sir,' Mrs Lambert said, bridling, 'I have not the honour of your acquaintance.'
'This is Mr Bayfield,' poor Bryda said, a blush suffusing her fair face and a look of almost terror in her eyes.
'Is he a friend of yours, Miss Palmer?'
'Oh, no,' Bryda said fervently; 'no.'
'Nay. That is cruel, too cruel, Miss Palmer.' Then in a lower voice he said, 'The month expires on this day three weeks. I shall expect, nay demand my reply at that date.'
Then, with another bow, his three-cornered hat in his hand, Mr Bayfield turned away.
But Bryda had not seen the last of him. The midday dinner was not over when the large brass knocker on Mr Lambert's door thundered against it, and took Sam to open it in hot haste. He returned quickly to say,—
'A gentleman wishes to see you, sir, on business.'
'Then tell him I don't see clients on Sunday, but at my office in Corn Street on week days. What does he mean by bringing the house down like that?'