Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save her life she could not think of Cricklewick as anything but an upper servant.
"Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, laying aside her little fur neck-piece.
Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into his brain the voiceless groan: "It's always something." However, he made haste to assure her that they would not be disturbed. "It is closing time, you see," he concluded, not without hope.
"I could not get here any earlier," she explained. "I stopped in to ask a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick."
"You have only to mention it," said he, and then abruptly looked at his watch. The thought struck him that perhaps he did not have enough in his bill-folder; if not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before the safe was closed for the day.
"Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, a queer little catch in her voice.
"I—I am sorry to hear that," said he.
"And I do not know of any one who is in a better position to help him than you," she went on coolly.
"I shall be happy to be of service to Lord Temple," said Mr. Cricklewick, but not very heartily. Observation had taught him that young noblemen seldom if ever get into trouble half way; they make a practice of going in clean over their heads.
"Owing to an unpleasant misunderstanding with Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis, he has lost his situation as chauffeur for Mr. Carpenter," said she.