"You are Mr. Shawe?" she said, in a low, deep contralto voice.
"Yes, Miss Pearl," he stammered; then he observed her well-cut, tailor-made dress, which was simplicity itself, and worn with a linen collar. But it was the material that brought a startled look into his eyes. "You--you wear a--a Harris tweed dress!" he gasped.
Miss Pearl eyed him with grave surprise. "Why should I not?" she asked.
[CHAPTER XX.]
A MUSIC HALL ARTIST
Miss Pearl's question was awkward to answer on the spur of the moment, as may be easily guessed. Ralph had intended to lead gradually up to the object of his visit; but thrown off his guard by the sight of the dress, he had committed himself in a most untimely manner. While thinking of a possible answer which would delay explanations he stared hard at Miss Pearl, trying to guess what kind of a woman she was. From the furnishing of the room, from her looks and severe mode of dress, he took her to be a religious woman of a Puritanic cast, who had abjured the pomps and vanities of the world. Yet she was a music-hall dancer, and that profession did not suit either her surroundings or her appearance.
"I shall explain why I made that remark shortly," said Shawe, evading a direct reply as well as he was able; "and, truth to tell, my errand is not a very pleasant one."
Miss Pearl looked at the card she held in her large white hand, and pondered thoughtfully. "Mr. Ralph Shawe," she said, in her heavy voice. "Ah! yes, I remember now. Perhaps, Mr. Ralph Shawe, I can guess your errand."
"Perhaps you can," muttered Shawe, wondering what she would say.
"Sir Joseph Branwin," pursued the dancer, "told me about you, as an undesirable suitor for the hand of his daughter. Am I right in assuming that you have called to enlist my sympathies?"