"I'll be hanged if it's simpler," grumbled James Hancock, as he returned the letter to his pocket. "Why in the name of all that's sacred couldn't she have let me call?—the clerks will talk so. No matter, let them—I don't care."
"Miss Lambert," said Bridgewater, opening the door.
Mr Hancock might have thought that Spring herself stood before him in the open doorway, such a pleasing and perfect vision did Miss Lambert make. She was attired in a chip hat, and a dress of something light in texture and lilac in colour, and, from the vivacity of her manner and the general sprightliness of her appearance, seemed bent upon a day of pleasure.
"I'm so awfully sorry to be so soon," said Miss Lambert. "It's only twenty minutes past ten; the clocks have all gone wrong at home. James broke out again yesterday; he went out and took far, far too much; isn't it dreadful? I don't know what we are to do with him, and he wound up the clocks last night, and I believe he has broken them all, at least they won't go. Father has gone away again; he is down in Sussex paying a visit to a Miss Pursehouse, we met her in Paris. She asked me to come too, but I had to refuse because my dressmaker—I mean, Susannah couldn't be left by herself, she smashes things so. She fell on the kitchen stairs this morning, bringing the breakfast things up—are you busy? and are you sure I'm not bothering you or interfering with clients and things? I arrived here really at ten minutes past ten, and walked up and down outside till people began to stare at me, so I came in."
"Not a bit busy," said Mr Hancock; "delighted you've come so early. Is that chair comfortable?"
"Quite, thanks."
"Sure you won't take this easy-chair?"
"No, no; this is a delightful chair. Who is that nice old man who showed me in?"
"Bridgewater, my chief clerk. Yes, he is a very good sort of man Bridgewater; he's been with us now a number of years."