The biggest man she had ever seen, or heard, she said, wanted to see Miss Seaward.
Why did he want to see her and what was his name?
She didn’t know, and had omitted to ask his name, having been so frightened that she had left him at the door, which she had shut against him.
“An’, please, Miss,” continued Liffie, in a tone of suppressed eagerness, “if I was you I’d lock the parlour door in case he bu’sts in the outer one. You might open the winder an’ screech for the pleece.”
“Oh! Liffie, what a frightened thing you are,” remonstrated Jessie, “go and show the man in at once.”
“Oh! no, Miss,” pleaded Liffie, “you’d better ’ave ’im took up at once. You’ve no notion what dreadful men that sort are. I know ’em well. We’ve got some of ’em where we live, and—and they’re awful!”
Another knock at this point cut the conversation short, and Kate herself went to open the door.
“May I have a word with Miss Seaward?” asked the captain respectfully.
“Ye’es, certainly,” answered Kate, with some hesitation, for, although reassured by the visitor’s manner, his appearance and voice alarmed her too. She ushered him into the parlour, however, which was suddenly reduced to a mere bandbox by contrast with him.
Being politely asked to take a chair, he bowed and took hold of one, but on regarding its very slender proportions—it was a cane chair—he smiled and shook his head. The smile did much for him.