“My dear girl,” she said, “come along, you shall have your chance. He had his, I’ll remind him of that. He will probably never forgive me, but I will risk that. Come along.”
[p94]
“But not now—you don’t mean now?” gasped Miss Bibby, shrinking back in actual alarm, for her hostess seemed seeking to pilot her into the house. It would certainly take a week or two to persuade the author, she counted, and she herself would consequently have that length of time in which to screw up her courage.
“Certainly now,” said Miss Kinross, “this minute. Why not? He’s only in that room across the hall.”
“Oh, oh,” gasped Miss Bibby, “I—I must have time—I—I daren’t—Oh, Oh—don’t knock at the door—for Heaven’s sake.”
Kate laughed and drew back one moment.
“My dear girl,” she said, “he’s not in the least brutal, as he seems from his books. You couldn’t meet with a more harmless man if you hunted for a year. Don’t you be alarmed—why, you silly girl, you are actually trembling! He is nearly as stout as I am, and much more good-natured, and you’re not afraid of me. Now, come along.”
She opened a door without knocking and put in her head.
“Hugh,” she said, in as bland a tone as she could call up, “I have brought a lady to interview you for the Evening Mail. I have assured her you will not object. Well, I shall see you again in half an hour, Miss Bibby.”
[p95]
And Miss Bibby felt herself pushed gently into the study of Hugh Kinross, and all retreat cut off behind her by the silent closing of the door.
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