"Go," said her master in a low tone, "and tell Mrs. Belcher that I am busy, and that she must choke her off. I can't see her to-night. I can't see her."
The girl retired, and soon afterward Mrs. Belcher came, and reported that she could do nothing with Miss Butterworth—that Miss Butterworth was determined to see him before she left the house.
"Bring her in; I'll make short work with her."
As soon as Mrs. Belcher retired, her husband hurried to the mirror, brushed his hair back fiercely, and then sat down to a pile of papers that he always kept conveniently upon his library table.
"Come in," said Mr. Belcher, in his blandest tone, when Miss Butterworth was conducted to his room.
"Ah! Keziah?" said Mr. Belcher, looking up with a smile, as if an unexpected old friend had come to him.
"My name is Butterworth, and it's got a handle to it,' said that bumptious lady, quickly.
"Well, but, Keziah, you know we used to—"
"My name is Butterworth, I tell you, and it's got a handle to it."
"Well, Miss Butterworth—happy to see you—hope you are well—take a chair."