The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe’s house in the Poultry was given over to his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a vendor of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to ceiling, and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an abundant and valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of counting-house parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his son and an elderly clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was announced by the ringing of a spring bell. The scales for the weighing of the bullion and the worked gold and silver wire were suspended above the broad counter in the shop, and from a hook between the shelves there hung a number of ruled forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these were entered the particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who made up the lace as required. The upper part of the house was the home of the family, the spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex windows overhanging the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment was an equally large drawing-room, and the furniture of both was of walnut made in the reign of Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of Dutch marqueterie of the heavier character favoured by the craftsmen of the previous sovereigns. The rooms themselves were panelled with oak and lighted by candles in brass sconces.
It seemed to Fanny, on entering the dining-room, that every seat was occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It was the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem full, although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe and his parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. Fanny greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were beaming, but with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that night when he had pressed her hand. She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He was holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though they were starting to dance a minuet.
They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one side, said, making a low bow:
“Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. Barlowe, and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I know, already acquainted with my parents.”
The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper’s bow, first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney.
The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than she had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. Martin’s Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was rumoured, pressed too rigidly the windpipe of the unfortunate Peter. All that she could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of curtsies.
“We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam,” said Mr. Barlowe when he had recovered himself—he was addressing Fanny, ignoring for the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney.
“Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney,” said the little lady. “But I protest that when I look at you I feel as King Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been told.”
“Oh, madam, you flatter me,” said Fanny, trying to put some force into a voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible.