Charles Clinton had called to see his sister, as he promised, upon the following day, and after a few inquiries respecting her companion of the previous evening, which Lotte answered evasively, he gave her a narrative of his rapid voyage to the United States and back, and prolonged it, hoping that her friend who, he understood, resided in the next room, would appear. He guessed that there was some mystery connected with her, and the surmise set him longing to know what it could be; but as Lotte did not volunteer a word about her, and he knew her firmness on certain points, he felt it would be useless to question her. The mysterious lady did not, notwithstanding that he spun his narrative out, present herself to his eyes; and as Lotte told him that he could not stay there all night, and that it was quite time he was at home, he rose laughingly, kissed her affectionately, took his departure, determining to return shortly and abruptly, that he might pop upon the strange lady in his sister’s apartment.
The day succeeding this, a smart ring at the bell conducted Lotte down to the street door, and there she saw Mr. Bantom standing glowing in his best clothes, and smiling over the edges of a tall white shirt-collar.
But he had a most unfavourable looking black eye, and strips of plaster were placed upon his nose, his cheekbone, and his forehead.
Lotte uttered an exclamation of surprise, but immediately welcomed him, and invited him up to her little room, asking, in rather a loud tone, as she ascended the stairs, how Mrs. Bantom and all the little Bantoms were—a signal which was responded to by her finding her room untenanted when she reached it.
She bade Mr. Bantom sit down, and begged him to excuse her working while he talked, for she could listen and stitch too. She had a presentiment that this was not a mere visit of ceremony, but it had reference to the disordered aspect of his visage—perhaps, her help was needed—and if it were so, so far as it was possible, she was ready and anxious to afford it.
But no; it turned out not to be the object of Mr. Bantom’s visit.
He explained that he had called upon her the night before the one preceding, and that, without giving him an opportunity to say who he was, and why he was in this locality, the police had seized upon him in the most tyranical manner, and bore him to the station-house.
“It took five on ’em to do it, miss,” he said, with a cunning and a satisfied smile; “and when I came to ’splain matters to the inspector, he said I ’ad been werry hardly used. He dismissed me at once, and suspended the policeman as first collared me, and I’m going to bring a action agin him, and the lawyer says I shall get swishing damages. But lor, miss, that ain’t no interest to you, that ain’t. Wot I’ve come about is becos it’s a matter consarning your good—a bit of good fortin for you, miss.”
“Good fortune!” echoed Lotte, in surprise. Then she added, with a smile, “Let me hear it Mr. Bantom. It will be very acceptable to me, you know.”
“An’ you deserves it—Lord bless your pretty face, you does. Hem!—I begs your parding, miss, but you knows I allus speaks my mind, p’raps when I shouldn’t.”