"Can I see Mr Whitcomb?" she inquired.
"What name? Have you an appointment?"
"I have not an appointment, and my name is of no consequence. I wish to see Mr Whitcomb on very particular business."
The young gentleman looked at her askance, as if he was of opinion--which he emphatically was--that she was not at all the sort of person he was accustomed to see outside that door.
"Mr Whitcomb doesn't generally see people without an appointment, especially if he doesn't know their names; but if you'll step inside, I'll see if he's engaged."
She stepped inside to find herself in an apartment in which there were several other young gentlemen, of somewhat riper years; one and all of whom, she immediately became conscious, began to take the liveliest interest in her. Soon there appeared a grey-haired man, who held a pair of spectacles between the fingers of his right hand.
"May I ask what your name is? and what is the nature of the business on which you wish to see Mr Whitcomb?"
"I have already explained that my name doesn't matter. And I can only state my business to Mr Whitcomb himself." Then she added, as if struck by the look of doubt in the grey-haired man's face, "Pray don't imagine that I am here to beg for subscriptions to a charity or any nonsense of that kind. I wish to see Mr Whitcomb about something very important."
The grey-headed man smiled faintly, apparently amused by something in the caller's manner, or appearance. Departing whence he came he almost immediately reappeared, and beckoned to her with his hand.
"Mr Whitcomb is very much engaged, but he will manage to spare you five minutes."