"But what am I to do?" said Captain Cavendish, with an appalled face. "How am I to insinuate myself into her good graces? Where is the key to her heart?"
"The key was lost years ago, and her heart is now closed. Don't contradict her, whatever you do. Hush! here we are!"
They had ascended to a hall like the one below; flanked, like it, by doors. Natty, with a glance of wicked delight at his dolorous face, opened the first door to the right, and ushered him at once into the presence of the awful Lady Leroy.
Something—it certainly looked more like an Egyptian mummy than anything else—swathed in shawls and swaddling-clothes, was stuck up in a vast Sleepy Hollow open arm-chair, and had its face turned to the door. That face, and a very yellow, and seared, and wrinkled, and unlovely face it was, buried in the flapping obscurity of a deeply-frilled white cap, was lit by a pair of little, twinkling eyes, bright and keen as two stilettos.
"Mrs. Leroy," said Natty, her tone demure, but her mischievous eyes dancing under their lashes, "this is Captain Cavendish."
"How d'ye do, Captain Cavendish?" said Mrs. Leroy, in a shrill, squeaking voice, like a penny whistle out of tune; "sit down—do! Natty, can't you give the young man a cheer?"
Natty did not cheer, but she placed a chair for him, whispering, as she did so, "Speak loud, or she won't hear you."
"What's the weather like out o' doors?" inquired the old lady, scanning him from head to foot with her little piercing eyes; "be the sun a-shining, hey?"
"No, Madam," said Captain Cavendish, in a loud key, "it is foggy."
She had paid no attention to his reply; she had been staring at him all the time, until even he, cool as any man of the world could be, got a trifle disconcerted. Natty, sitting demurely near, was enjoying it all with silent but intense delight.