“Cobbler” Horn very rarely consented to see any company who came merely to pay a call. But one afternoon, when his sister was out, he went into the drawing-room to excuse her absence, and, in fact, to dismiss the callers.
“My sister is not at home, ma’am,” he said, addressing the buxom and magnificent lady, who, with her two slender and humble-looking sons, had awaited his coming.
Having delivered his announcement, he stood at the open door, as though to show his visitors out. The lady, however, quite unabashed, retained her seat.
“May I venture to say,” she asked, “that, inasmuch as the absence of Miss Horn has procured us the pleasure of making the acquaintance of her brother, it is not entirely a matter of regret?”
“Cobbler” Horn bowed gravely.
“It is very good of you to say that, ma’am; but I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me too. I’m very busy; and, besides, these ceremonies are not at all in my way.”
The lady, who bore a title, changed countenance, and rose to her feet. She was conscious that she had been dismissed.
“Certainly, sir,” she said, in accents of freezing politeness; “no doubt you have many concerns. We will retire at once.”
The lady’s sons also rose, moving as she moved, like the satellites of a planet.
“There is no need for you to go, ma’am,” “Cobbler” Horn hastened to say, quite unaware that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette. “If you will only excuse me, and stay here by yourselves, for a little while, no doubt my sister will soon be back; and I’m sure she will be glad to see you.”