Before the woman of impregnable virtue to whom this gem of morality was addressed, could visit the Bayard at the breakfast table according to his merit, we found ourselves suddenly precipitated into the realms of drama.
For this was the moment in which I became aware that Parkins was hovering about my chair and that a sensational announcement was on his lips.
"Mr. Fitzwaren desires to see you, sir, on most urgent business."
The effect was electrical. Mary Catesby suspended her indictment with a gesture like Boadicea's, queenly but ferocious. Brasset's pink perplexity approximated to a shade of green; the eyes of the Madam were like moons—in the circumstances a little poetic license is surely to be pardoned—while as for the demeanour of the narrator of this ower-true tale, I can answer for it that it was one of total discomfiture.
"Mr. Fitzwaren here?" were my first incredulous words.
"I have shown him into the library, sir," said Parkins, solemnly.
"You cannot see him, Odo," said the despot of our household. "He must not come here."
"Important business, Parkins?" said I.
"Most urgent business, sir."
"Highly mysterious!" Mrs. Catesby was pleased to affirm.