“Mr. Paul Pangbutt?” she asked in frank surprise.
Victoria May Alice nodded violently:
“That’s the gent, mum—he said as you’d know his name.”
“Say I am not at home to visitors.”
“I did, mum—but he says as I was to say as he is partic’lar anxious to see you. He called before—but he was that blimey gloomy I sent him off for a walk—said as you wouldn’t be in for an hour—Lord ’elp me.”
Caroline hesitated.
“Wait,” she said. “Show Mr. Pangbutt upstairs, Victoria.”
Victoria May Alice dropped her dust-pan and brush with a rattle of surprise:
“Oh!—you will see him.... Bless yer, I thought he’d be a gloomy nuisance—he’s that solemn. I told him he hadn’t a charnce. He rather calls for a sunshiny day to show him off, does Pangbutt.” She came in and leaned forward toward Caroline: “Don’t yer hesitate to say a hint, mum—I’d lie like Sapphira, if yer tips the wink. I was a-putting of him off anyway—I’ve been a-hinting as you was in your bath, mum, but, of course, if yer want to see him, I’ll tell him it was all shine and on second thoughts you ain’t a-goin’ to have one to-day.”
The girl went to the head of the stairs, rattled the tin dust-pan against the brush handle to call the visitor’s attention down below, and cried shrilly over the balustrade: