“Well, if ever I”—Mr Saxby did not finish his sentence as he stood in the hall, but delivered a tremendous blow right into his hat, checking it in time to prevent injury to the glossy fabric; and then, sticking it sideways upon his head, and his hands beneath his coat-tails, he strolled out into the garden.
Ten minutes later, Aunt Sophia returned into the drawing-room, and as she did so, a tall dark figure rose from where it was bending over a book.
“Bless the man! how you made me jump,” cried Aunt Sophia.
“I beg your pardon—I’m extremely sorry, Miss Raleigh,” said Prayle softly. “I was just looking through that little work.”
“Oh!” said Aunt Sophia shortly.
“By the way, Miss Raleigh—I am sure you will excuse me.”
“Certainly, Mr Prayle, certainly,” said Aunt Sophia, who evidently supposed that the speaker was about to leave the room.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I only wanted to observe that I am engaged a great deal in the City, and—er—it often falls to my lot—er—to be aware of good opportunities for making investments.”
“Indeed,” said Aunt Sophia.
“Yes; not always, but at times,” continued Prayle. “I thought I would name it to you, as you might perhaps feel disposed to take shares, say, in some object of philanthropic design. I find that these affairs generally pay good dividends, while the shareholders are perfectly safe.”