At this moment a figure passed across the window, and a loud knock was heard at the house-door. Rosalie rushed to the door of the parlour.
‘Don’t let any one in, Susan,’ she cried. ‘Say I’m—I’m engaged. Stay at least a minute, Mr. Sharpe—I want to tell you—I want to explain.’
Throwing out one hand in pleading, she held open the parlour door an inch or two with the other, and presently the manly tones of Mr. Cross were heard through the chink.
‘I am sorry to hear that Mrs. Fiander is engaged. Will you kindly inform her that I will call next Sunday?’
‘Tell him, Susan,’ said her mistress, opening the door a little way, and speaking under her breath—‘tell him that I am always engaged on Sunday.’
Susan was heard to impart this information, and then the visitor’s tones were heard again:
‘That’s a pity! Tell her, if you please, that I shall ’ope to have the pleasure of finding her at home some afternoon during the week.’
‘I am always out in the afternoon,’ said Rosalie, speaking this time so decidedly that it was not necessary for Susan to repeat her words.
‘Oh!’ said the young man, addressing this time not the maid but the bright eye of which he caught a glimpse through the door, ‘then I shall take my chance of finding you in the morning.’
‘I am too busy to see anyone in the morning,’ retorted Rosalie; and she shut the door with a finality which left Mr. Cross no option but to depart.