Harriet was from home at her usual devotions, and her father was endeavouring to amuse himself, as he best might under the circumstances, when a stranger, who preferred not to give his name, requested an audience of Miss Wesden. Miss Wesden not being at home, Mr. Wesden would do for the nonce, and the stranger was, therefore, shown into the parlour.
The ci-devant stationer put on his spectacles, and looked suspiciously at the new comer. Mr. Wesden was a man of the world, and hard to be imposed upon. A man more nervous and irritable with every day, but having his wits about him, as the phrase runs.
"Good evening," said the stranger.
"Good evening," responded Mr. Wesden. "Ahem—if it's a subscription for anything, I don't think that I have anything to give away."
"My name is Hinchford—Maurice Hinchford—possibly better known to you by the unenviable alias of Maurice Darcy."
"Oh! you're that vagabond, are you?—well, what do you want? You haven't come to torment my daughter again?" he said, in an excited manner; "you've done enough mischief in your day."
"I am aware of it, sir—I come to offer every reparation in my power."
"We don't want any of that sort of stuff, Mr. Hinchford."
"It's late in the day to offer an apology—to attempt an explanation of my conduct in the past; but if you would favour me with a patient hearing, I should be obliged, sir."
"I've nothing better to do," said Mr. Wesden; "take a seat, sir."