The front door was open, and a gust of wind was sweeping through the hall like a hurricane. Upon the threshold a man wearing a greatcoat and broad-brimmed artist’s hat, a man with a slender figure and eager face, was standing, talking with the house-maid.
Mrs. Peters recognized the unwelcome guest as Rufus Black.
“I want to see Mrs. Peters,” he was saying earnestly—“Miss Wroat’s companion. I have come up expressly from London to see her. I cannot go back to Inverness without seeing Mrs. Peters. She is my wife!”
“Lawks, sir!” said the housemaid, with a wild idea that her visitor was a lunatic.
The reader, who knows how naturally Rufus Black’s mistake had arisen, will not wonder at it.
“I must see her,” persisted Rufus, his voice trembling. “Tell Mrs. Peters a gentleman wishes to see her—”
At that moment Mrs. Peters, grim and terrible, resolving to protect her young mistress from one she deemed unworthy of her, marched out into the full glare of the hall lamp, and placing her arms akimbo, and assuming her most warlike aspect, exclaimed:
“Well, sir! and what may you want of me, sir? I am Mrs. Peters!”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE DESPAIR OF RUFUS AND LALLY.
At the grim and warlike announcement of Mrs. Peters’ identity, delivered in Mrs. Peters’ grimmest and most warlike manner, Rufus Black recoiled involuntarily, his face expressing his utter amazement.