“A message? Really? Me? I may have done.”
“You expressed a desire that I should not keep you waiting. I do not wish to do so. Please don’t wait.”
“Miss Norah!—I—I don’t understand.”
“I say, please don’t wait. Shall I ask Mr Carter to ring for the maid to open the door?”
“Miss Norah!”
His jaw dropped open. He displayed such unmistakeable signs of confusion, as well as contrition, that I proceeded to forgive him, in my own way.
“I am not accustomed to being requested by gentlemen not to keep them waiting. Those whose acquaintance I care to have are only too glad to consider my convenience, they never dream of expecting me to consider theirs.”
It was a dreadful story. And a horrid thing to say as well. But Audrey’s words were in my ears, I was bent on trampling. I had been trampled on so long.
“So, if for any reason whatever you feel disposed to ask me to consider your convenience, pray say so at once, and Mr Carter will ring for the maid to open the door.”
Never was man more profusely apologetic. To see him cringing—it really amounted to cringing—was a novel sensation for me. Never had a man apologised to me before—at least, to the best of my recollection and belief.