“The lady is not—I mean—she is at home, but she is engaged; she is—er—she is entertaining friends and can’t see anyone.”
Exceedingly bewildered, the caller waited a minute, trying in vain to catch sounds of hilarity within, and then rapped again; and, as the keyhole seemed the correct channel of communication, he said through the aperture—
“Kindly tell your mistress that her husband is here.”
There was a pause, then the voice within said—
“The lady is sorry she can’t see anyone to-day, as she is ill in bed.”
The mystery thickened. Going round to the back door, which was also locked, the caller rapped more vigorously still. This time an agitated voice wailed from the inside—
“Are you still there? Oh, please go away!”
But, though he was exceedingly astonished at this curious reception, he had no intention of going, and he said so. Eileen’s next question was unexpected.
“What is your Christian name?” she began. He told her. “What is the colour of your hair?”