“Yes, I see. I am a fly,” said the young Frenchman, and, passing through the inner door, he closed it after him and opened the outer, to return in a minute with two cards.
“Who was it?” growled Pacey.
“A lady and gentleman. I told them you could not see any one, and they are gone.”
Pacey snatched the cards, glanced at them, uttered an ejaculation, and springing up, he threw down his pipe, and nearly did the same by his companion as he rushed to the door, passed out on to the landing, and began to run down the stairs.
“My faith, but he is a droll of a man,” muttered Leronde, pointing his moustache; “but I love him. Aha! always the woman. How he run as soon as he read the name. We are all alike, we men. What was it? Mees Torpe and—faith of a man—she was pretty. Mees! I thought it was her husband at first. H’m! The lover perhaps.”
The door flew open again and Pacey returned, showing in Cornel Thorpe and her brother.
“Here, Leronde,” cried Pacey excitedly. “Excuse me—very particular business, old fellow.”
“You wish me to go?” said Leronde stiffly, as he waited for an introduction.
“If you wouldn’t mind, and—look here,” continued Pacey, drawing him outside. “Don’t be hurt, old fellow—this is very particular. You saw the names on the cards?”
“Oh yes.”