MRS. LAMB IN SEARCH OF ADVICE
On the evening of that same day, at the door of Mr. Isaac Luker's little house in that cul-de-sac near Stamford Street, some one knocked, in a rather unusual manner, as if after a prescribed fashion, then whistled half-a-dozen sharp, shrill notes up the scale. This performance was repeated thrice before anything happened to show that it had attracted attention within. Then a window was opened above; the solicitor's head came out.
"Who's there?"
A feminine voice replied--
"It's me--Isabel. I want to speak to you. Don't keep me waiting out here. Come down! let me in at once."
There was a brief pause before the answer came, as if the man of law was endeavouring to see as much of his visitor as he could.
"Not much--I won't have you in this house; don't you think it; I'm not a fool. If you won't go without a fuss I'll soon get those who'll shift you."
"You are a fool. I don't want money from you, or anything of that kind. I want to tell you something--that's all."
"Then tell it me from where you are; I'm listening."
Mrs. Lamb's voice dropped, so that her words were only just audible to the man above.