He came down the length of the room with a slight flicking noise due to the scandalized excitement of his abandoned laces. The lady was reminded of her not so very distant schooldays, when it would have been considered a suitable answer to such a question as his to reply, “No, I am walking down Piccadilly on my hands.” But instead she waved that pink paper again. “The agents,” she said. “Recommended—specially. So sorry if I intrude. I ought, I know, to have written first; but I came on an impulse.”
By this time the gentleman in the artistic tie, who had also the artistic eye for such matters, had discovered that the lady was young, delightfully slender, either pretty or beautiful, he could scarcely tell which, and very, very well dressed. “I am glad,” he said, with remarkable decision, “that I was not out. I will show you the house.”
“’Ow can you, sir?” intervened the little old woman.
“Oh! show a house! Why not?”
“The kitchings—you don’t understand the range, sir—it’s beyond you. And upstairs. You can’t show a lady upstairs.”
The gentleman reflected upon these difficulties.
“Well, I’m going to show her all I can show her anyhow. And after that, Mrs. Rabbit, you shall come in. You needn’t wait.”
“I’m thinking,” said Mrs. Rabbit, folding stiff little arms and regarding him sternly. “You won’t be much good after tea, you know, if you don’t get your afternoon’s exercise.”
“Rendez-vous in the kitchen, Mrs. Rabbit,” said Mr. Brumley, firmly, and Mrs. Rabbit after a moment of mute struggle disappeared discontentedly.
“I do not want to be the least bit a bother,” said the lady. “I’m intruding, I know, without the least bit of notice. I do hope I’m not disturbing you——” she seemed to make an effort to stop at that, and failed and added—“the least bit. Do please tell me if I am.”