"Come in, and be d——d to you, and don't stand rapping at that door all day."
The people, as a rule, who solicited admittance to his chambers were either the boy from the legal light below, who came to ask whether the papers were ready that had been sent up this morning, or else they were smiling and sleek-faced tradesmen who washed their hands insinuatingly whilst they requested that Mr. Pryme would be kind enough to settle that little outstanding account.
Either of these visitors were equally unwelcome, which must be some excuse for the roughness of Mr. Pryme's language.
The door was softly pushed ajar.
"Now, then—come in, can't you; who the deuce are you—Beatrice!"
Enter Miss Miller, smiling.
"Oh, fie, Herbert! what naughty words, sir."
"Beatrice, is it possible that it is you! Where is your mother? Are you alone?" looking nervously round at the door, whilst he caught her outstretched hand.
"Yes, I am quite alone; don't be very shocked. I know I am a horrid, bold girl to come all by myself to a man's chambers; it's dreadful, isn't it! Oh, what would people say of it if they knew—why, even you look horrified! But oh, Herbert, I did want to see you so. I was determined to get at you somehow—and now I am here for a whole hour; I have managed it beautifully—no one will ever find out where I have been. Mamma thinks I am driving with Lady Kynaston!"
And then she sat down and took off her veil, and told him all about it.