The cashier turned over the cheque.
“You have forgotten to endorse it,” he said, passing it back and handing him a pen ready dipped in ink.
Boy took the pen—but his hand shook. Again the cashier looked at him suspiciously. When he had endorsed the cheque the cashier vanished into the manager’s room and was absent some minutes. Then he came back and said with great civility,—
“Will you kindly call back in an hour? There is a little formality to go through with this before paying out so large an amount from Miss Leslie’s current account——”
“Is there?” stammered Boy, turning deathly white.
“Oh, only a mere matter of form,” said the cashier, watching him narrowly, “and our manager is rather busy just now. If you will call back at twelve he will explain everything to you, and hand you over the money.”
Boy bent his head mechanically and went out, sick with terror. Meanwhile, one of the bank’s confidential clerks, acting on instructions received, went out of the building by a side door, and jumping into a hansom was driven straight to Miss Letty’s house. Could he see Miss Leslie? The servant who opened the door was not quite sure,—Miss Leslie was not very well.
“Please say to her that the business is urgent, and that I come from the bank,” said the clerk.
Upon this, the servant showed him into the hall, where he waited for a few minutes impatiently. Then he was shown into Miss Letty’s morning-room, where, near a sparkling fire, and surrounded by many flowers, sat Miss Letty herself, a picture of fair and tranquil old age, quietly knitting.
“Excuse me troubling you, madam,” began the clerk, stumbling awkwardly into the dainty little sanctum, and standing abashed in the presence of this gracious, sweet old lady, who as he afterwards said when speaking of her, looked like a queen.