But this swain was not successful. Something more than the reverse, for he pursued his investigation in a manner so peculiar that in several cases he was suspected of being after the time-piece, or any stray purse or plate, instead of the lodgings; and was, consequently, answered with abruptness, not permitted to be left by himself for an instant, and was shown to the door with all possible speed. In other instances, he was imagined to be an individual shrinking from an interview with sharp and urgent creditors, whose claims he could not liquidate. In nearly every case, he was considered impertinently inquisitive, and received monosyllables in reply, but not in satisfaction of the object of his questions, as that formed precisely the point upon which the interrogated joined issue with him, especially if the lady with diminished resources who let apartments to help out her income, or who had “more room than she wanted,” happened to have a daughter old enough to be thought of by young men—and to think of them. Then Malcolm Grahame observed, as he questioned, the elderly landlady’s face redden, her brow contract, her lips purse up, her eyes brighten, and her conversational powers stricken with a sudden frost; and he found himself gradually backed, inch by inch, down the stairs, along the passage too narrow mostly to be dignified with the name of a hall, until he was fairly in the street, and then the door was slammed in his face.
“Cursedly rude,” thought he: “devilish odd, too, they should treat a person of my standing and appearance in such a beastly fashion.”
The more his imagination dwelt upon Lotte, the more infatuated he grew; the difficulties thrown in his path, in his endeavour to discover her, served but to add to the flame already kindled; and thus much time that ought to have been passed at Oxford was spent in wandering through whole streets of unlet apartments to find one who had no idea of his existence, and who, as soon as his identity was established, would think about him pretty much as she had done before, that is to say—not at all.
A recent effort of Lotte’s handicraft had been purchased by a lady of title in Belgravia; and, requiring other articles of attire for her “budding sprigs,” she desired that the person, young or old, who had made the articles she had purchased, and was much pleased with, should, upon a certain evening, after dinner, wait upon her to take her instructions. Delighted with the taste exhibited in the things she had bought, the lady concluded that the same excellent fancy would be displayed by the young person in whatever was made under her own directions; in fact, that by such a mode of procedure the very best results would be produced. She was, therefore, very particular in requesting the presence of the actual workwoman.
Her wishes were conveyed to Lotte, and she, glad of a little change, readily assented to attend upon the lady, resolving to make, by allowing herself plenty of time, something more than a mere walk of her journey.
So she tied on the prettiest of little bonnets—we must tell the truth—so as to cover only half her head and to hide that graceful turn in her neck, which, without shawl or bonnet, commanded the admiration of any person with half an eye for beauty of form, and she donned her dove-coloured mantle, which fell so gracefully from her shoulders, giving a tantalising suggestion of the small, well-shaped waist it concealed from view, but not from the imagination; and she drew on gradually, with a woman’s patience and perseverance in those matters, the small deep-green kid gloves, and then she seized her little morocco handkerchief-box hung it on her arm, and sallied forth.
“Well,” she thought, with a smile and a suppressed sigh, “if no one has been to pay me a visit, it consoles me to think I have a visit to pay.”
Now she had not left her residence more than a few minutes, when Hal Vivian, with grave and thoughtful face, called at her residence to see her, and to have a quiet talk with her upon a subject of interest to her and of moment to himself. He was vexed to find that she was out; but, on learning that she had gone to Eaton Square, he said it was probable he might walk in that direction, and, in all likelihood, he should see her; he therefore declined to leave a message.
Perhaps an hour had elapsed, when Miss Clinton’s bell again gave forth a loud peal. This time there appeared at the door two young men, one of whom inquired for Lotte with great earnestness; he displayed much disappointment when told that, though the young lady for whom he inquired certainly lived there, that she was not within. When, however, it was made known to him whither she had gone, he, with his friend, at once departed in quest of her.
Now, as though visits were to fall on Lotte as thick as hail during her absence, Mr. Bantom, spruced up and decorated with a tall shirt collar, so that his wife laughed until she absolutely wept, as she walked round and surveyed him, when dressed, presented himself at her abode for admission.