The man looked at her with considerable surprise.
"I don't think it's likely Mr. Dunbar will see you, miss," he said; "but I'll take your name up if you wish it."
"I shall be much obliged if you will do so."
"Certainly, miss. If you'll please to sit down in the hall I'll go to Mr. Dunbar immediately. Your name is——"
"My name is Margaret Wilmot."
The waiter started as if he had been shot.
"Wilmot!" he exclaimed; "any relation to——"
"I am the daughter of Joseph Wilmot," answered Margaret, quietly. "You can tell Mr. Dunbar so if you please."
"Yes, miss; I will, miss. Bless my soul! you really might knock me down with a feather, miss. Mr. Dunbar can't possibly refuse to see you, I should think, miss."
The waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret as he went. He seemed to think that the daughter of the murdered man ought to be, in some way or other, different from other young women.