The conversation was here interrupted by the opening of the chamber door; which was done without knocking. A slatternly servant—whose sex it would have been difficult to determine from outward indices—appeared in the doorway, with a basket of palm sinnet held extended at the termination of a long sinewy arm.
“Fwhat is it, Gertrude?” asked Phelim, who, from some previous information, appeared to be acquainted with the feminine character of the intruder.
“A shentlemans prot this.”
“A gentleman! Who, Gertrude?”
“Not know, mein herr; he wash a stranger shentlemans.”
“Brought by a gentleman. Who can he be? See what it in, Phelim.”
Phelim undid the fastenings of the lid, and exposed the interior of the basket. It was one of considerable bulk: since inside were discovered several bottles, apparently containing wines and cordials, packed among a paraphernalia of sweetmeats, and other delicacies—both of the confectionery and the kitchen. There was no note accompanying the present—not even a direction—but the trim and elegant style in which it was done up, proved that it had proceeded from the hands of a lady.
Maurice turned over the various articles, examining each, as Phelim supposed, to take note of its value. Little was he thinking of this, while searching for the “invoice.”
There proved to be none—not a scrap of paper—not so much as a card!
The generosity of the supply—well-timed as it was—bespoke the donor to be some person in affluent circumstances. Who could it be?