About two o’clock a fly drove up to the door, and a young gentleman got out and came in, and said, “This is the ‘Stretford Arms,’ is it not?”
I knew it was the young actor at once. There is something about an actor that you can always tell, even if you have not seen very many.
He really was handsome. He had lovely wavy hair, and beautiful sympathetic eyes, and his face was just like what you see in some of the statues in the British Museum—it was so nicely cut, if I may use the expression.
He spoke in a most eloquent voice, and it was quite a pleasure to listen to him. He was beautifully dressed, and I thought I never saw a young fellow’s clothes fit so elegantly.
Our barmaid (a flighty sort of girl, I am sorry to say) stared at him, almost with her mouth open, in admiration, till at last I was obliged to say, “Miss Bowles, will you please fetch me my keys from the parlour?” I couldn’t say out loud, “Don’t stare at the gentleman,” so I did it that way.
As soon as he had said who he was—of course, it wasn’t for me to tell him that I knew—I showed him into the sitting-room, that I had got ready for him, and had a fire lighted in it, so that he might be comfortable, while I went upstairs to announce to the ladies that he had arrived.
Poor Miss Elmore was sitting up in the arm-chair when I went into the room, and her mamma was in the other room.
The young lady knew before I opened my mouth what I had to say. She read it in my face, for I’m sure I was crimson with excitement and pleasure.
The sight of her turned me so that I could only gasp out, “He’s come, miss; he’s come.” And then I saw her cheeks flush burning red, and then go very pale again, and the tears came swimming up into her beautiful, loving blue eyes.
I felt that I would have given the world to have put my arms round her and given her a sisterly hug, and have a good cry with her; but, of course, it would have been forgetting my place.