“To Miss Carr’s with a note, sir,” I said; and the two old men exchanged glances of intelligence.
“All right, Grace,” said Mr Jabez, nodding; “we’re not busy. You can go.”
I hurried away, thinking no more of them or their conversation; but I was obliged to go into the composing-room below, to hurry up to Mr Hallett’s frame, where, stern-looking and half-repellent, he was rapidly setting a piece of manuscript.
“I’m going to Miss Carr’s,” I whispered, while my face glowed with pleasure.
“Indeed!” he said, starting; and my bright face might have been reflected in his, such a change passed over his speaking countenance.
“I’ve to take a note from Mr Lister and to wait for an answer,” I said; and I felt startled at the rapid change as he heard these last words. “Are you ill?” I cried anxiously.
“No—no,” he said hastily, and his voice sounded hard and harsh. “Go away now, I am very much pressed for time.”
I left him, wondering, for I could not read him then, and bounding down the stairs, I was soon in Fleet Street, and soon after in Norfolk Street, Strand.
I quickly found the number and the door, with a large brass plate thereon bearing the name “Brandsheim,” and in small letters in the corner “Ground Floor.”
A boy clerk answered my knock, and I was told to sit down in an outer office while the clerk went in with the note and to see if Mr Brandsheim was at home.