Martin felt pleased, and said sotto voce, “Chuck it, Turtle; you’re out of it, old boy.” A minute later he was standing before Aneta, inquiring in a trembling voice what he could do for her.
“I want to order fifty pounds of tea to be made up in half-pound packets and sent to my aunt, Lady Lysle, 16b Eaton Square,” said Aneta. “The tea will be paid for on delivery, and please let it be the very best. I also want a hundred pound-packets of the best currants, and a hundred pound-packets of the best sugar.”
“Demerara, miss, or loaf?” inquired Martin, tremblingly putting down the order.
“Loaf, I think,” said Aneta. “Will you kindly send everything within the next day or two to Eaton Square, 16b, to Lady Lysle?”
“I will enter her ladyship’s name in my book. Yes, it shall be done,” said Martin.
He looked at Aneta, and Aneta looked straight back at him.
“Mr. Martin,” she said suddenly, “I am the school-friend of your stepdaughter, Maggie Howland. May I have a little conversation with you in your private room?”
“Ah, I thought there was something!” said Martin. “To be sure, miss,” he added.—“Turtle, you see that this order is hexecuted. It’s for her ladyship, Lady Lysle, 16b Eaton Square.—Come this way, my lady.”
“I am only Miss Lysle,” said Aneta.
All the attendants in the shop gazed in wonder as the beautiful girl and the excited Martin went into the little parlor at the back of the business establishment. There Martin stood with his hands behind him; but Aneta sank into a low chair.