"I'll wait a bit," said George.
He placed his silk hat carefully on the side table, and took a seat in the armchair vacated by the head clerk. Parrott fumed as he took note of George Early's dress through a crack of the door. His patent boots were new, and he wore an expensive tie; sprays of flowers worked in silk adorned his waistcoat; his gloves were a fashionable grey, and on the little finger of his left hand a ring glittered.
These articles of dress were not lost upon Mrs. Carey, who took advantage of George's affability to stand a moment and comment on the weather. Their pleasant chat was interrupted by another ring at the front-door bell.
"Hang it!" muttered the wretched Parrott. "That's Lucy, and I can't get out of this beastly hole!"
Instead of Mrs. Carey descending to show up the young lady, she allowed Susan, the maid-of-all-work, to do that service, and explained to Miss Perkins the reason of her presence with the gentleman visitor.
Miss Perkins thought it funny that Mr. Parrott should not be there to meet her, and by the toss of her head George guessed that she was not a little piqued. Mrs. Carey left them together till the return of the absent fiancé.
Miss Perkins was a milliner by trade, but not in trade at present. Fortune had smiled upon her mamma a year previously to the tune of two thousand pounds, and with this comfortable sum Mrs. Perkins lived in a villa at Paddington until such time as Thomas Parrott should rob her of her child. Both mother and daughter considered the match a desirable one, though they would have liked to know with more certainty the extent of the head clerk's fortune.
"Do you find it very warm here?" said George, making himself agreeable. "Let me open the window just a little."
"It might be cooler," said Miss Perkins, dabbing her face with a handkerchief.
"That's the worst of these old houses," said the young man, magnificently; "they're so pokey. The rooms are like rabbit hutches."