“Who?” she cried, as soon as Sir Gordon had ceremoniously bidden her “Good-night,” raising his curly brimmed hat, and putting it back.
“Mr Thickens, ma’am,” cried the little maid eagerly; “and when I told him you was out, he said, might he wait, and I showed him in the parlour.”
“And he’s there now?” whispered Miss Heathery, who began tremblingly to take off the very old pair of gloves she kept for evening wear, the others being safe in her reticule.
“No, ma’am, please he has been gone these ten minutes.”
“But what did he say?” cried Miss Heathery querulously.
“Said he wanted to see you particular, ma’am.”
“Oh dear me; oh dear me!” sighed Miss Heathery. “Was ever anything so unfortunate? How could I tell that he would come when I was out?”