'The likeness, I admit, is great, but the Belgian girl, I told you, could not speak a word of English, or scarcely so. I have to offer you a thousand apologies, though the mistake is not mine, but that of this man,' said Villiers, bowing low to Dulcie, greatly impressed by the sweetness of her beauty and terror of the predicament in which she had been placed.
'So it's a mistake after all, young gal,' growled Mr. Grabbley, with intense disappointment and reluctance to relinquish his prey.
'And may I go, sir?' said Dulcie piteously to Villiers.
'Most certainly—you are free,' replied Villiers, who was again about to apologize and explain, but the girl, like a hunted creature, drew her veil tightly across her tear-blotched face, rushed along the dingy corridor, and gained the street in an instant.
That she was a lady in every sense of tone and bearing was evident, and Villiers felt overcome with shame and contrition, and swore in pretty round terms at the crestfallen Grabbley.
'This is a devil of a mistake!' said the latter as he scratched his head in dire perplexity.
'A mistake we have not, perhaps, heard the end of. Who is she?' asked Villiers.
'I don't know.'
'Did she give you no name?'
'Yes—here it is,' said Grabbley, producing a dirty note-book; 'Dulcie Carlyon.'