'What business have you here?'
Rawcliffe gave such a start that he almost jumped from the ground. His face, as he put down the letter and turned, was that of a gibbering idiot; his lips moved, but no sound came from them.
'What are you doing in my room?' demanded Miss Rodney, in her severest tones.
'I really beg your pardon—I really beg—'
'I suppose this is not the first visit with which you have honoured me?'
'The first—indeed—I assure you—the very first! A foolish curiosity; I really feel quite ashamed of myself; I throw myself upon your indulgence.'
The man had become voluble; he approached Miss Rodney smiling in a sickly way, his head bobbing forward.
'It's something,' she replied, 'that you have still the grace to feel ashamed. Well, there's no need for us to discuss this matter; it can have, of course, only one result. To-morrow morning you will oblige me by giving notice to Mrs. Turpin—a week's notice.'
'Leave the house?' exclaimed Rawcliffe.
'On Saturday next—or as much sooner as you like.'