And while Miss Scrimp went to the front door, Hattie Butler, in her usual leisurely way, left the table, as if going to her own room. But, when out of the dining-room, she hurried up the first flight of stairs, and turned into the room used both as sitting-room and chamber by Miss Scrimp. While at the head of the stairs she heard her landlady say:
“Come right in, sir, you’re expected. Come right in.”
The curiosity of Miss Scrimp to know what important business her boarder could have, made the old spinster even cordial to a horrid man.
In another minute Miss Scrimp shuffled in in her slip-shod shoes, and she was followed by Mr. W——.
When the door was closed, Hattie formally introduced the famous and wealthy proprietor of the bindery to her boarding mistress, and then added:
“If you please, Mr. W——, you can mention your business in the presence of this lady. I will answer for her silence in regard to it hereafter, whatever it may be.”
“Certainly, Miss Hattie,” said he.
But he was a little confused, and evidently would not have had that vinegar-faced woman there if he could help it. But in his own note he had told her to have witnesses to the interview if she desired, and surely it was prudent to have that hideous old ghost of a landlady there—perhaps policy, too, for in contrast Hattie looked positively angelic.
Mr. W—— had never seen that wealth of glossy raven hair floating in shining, curling masses down over her white shoulders clear to her waist, before, and she had put on a neat, real lace collar when she went to her room; and a pair of daintily ruffled cuffs made her small hands look even yet more delicate, and they were such beautiful hands, without a single ring to mar their delicate contour.
Mr. W—— hesitated only a moment, while his eager eyes drank in that flood of beauty, and then he said: