He timed his visit at an hour when, according to the information extracted from Mrs. Willers, Mariposa’s last pupil for the day should have left. He loitered about at the corner of the street and saw the pupil—one of the grown-up ones in a sealskin sack and a black Gainsborough hat—open the gate and sweep majestically down the street. Then he strode from his coign of vantage, stepped lightly up the stairs, and rang the bell.
It was after school hours, and Benito opened the door. Essex, in his silk hat and long, dark overcoat, tall and distinguished, was so much more impressive a figure than Win that the little boy stared at him in overawed surprise, and only found his breath when the stranger demanded Miss Moreau.
“Yes, she’s in,” said Benito, backing away toward the stairs; “I’ll call her. She has quite a lot of callers sometimes,” he hazarded pleasantly.
The door near by opened a crack, and a female voice issued therefrom in a suppressed tone of irritation.
“Benito, why don’t you show the gentleman into the parlor?”
“He’ll go in if he wants,” said Benito, who evidently had decided that the stranger knew how to take care of himself; “that’s the door; just open it and go in.”
Essex, who was conscious that the eye which pertained to the voice was surveying him intently through the crack, did as he was bidden and found himself in the close, musty parlor. It was late in the afternoon, and the long lace curtains draped over the windows obscured the light. He wanted to see Mariposa plainly and he looped the curtains back against the brass hooks. His heart was beating hard with expectation. As he turned round to look at the door he noticed that the key was in the lock, and resolved, with a sense of grim determination, that if she tried to go when she saw who it was, he could be before her and turn the key.
Upstairs Benito had found Mariposa sitting in front of the fire. She had been giving lessons most of the day and was tired. She stretched herself like a sleepy cat as he came in, and put her hand up to her hair, pushing in the loosened hairpins.
“It’s some one about lessons, I guess,” she said, rising and giving a hasty look in the glass. “At this rate, Ben, I’ll soon be rich.”
“What’ll we do then?” said Benito, clattering to the stair-head beside her.