I was stammering that it didn't matter, and was going to take myself away, and glad to get the chance of doing it, when a young lady came out of the side room into the passage. She was quite the lady, though dressed as plain as plain could be, with not a scrap of jewellery about her. When she saw me standing on the step, she said to the gentleman who had opened the door:
'Bartlett, who is this?'
'Wants to see Mr. Howarth, my lady.'
She came to the door and looked at me again.
'On what subject do you wish to see Mr. Howarth? I am his sister.'
The servant's calling her 'my lady' had sent me all of a twitter. So that when she spoke to me I felt that silly I could have bitten myself.
'If you please, miss, I want to speak to him.'
I could have scratched myself for calling her miss, she being my lady. But she didn't seem to mind. She had another look at me, and then she said:
'Come in. Perhaps you can tell me on what subject you wish to speak to my brother.' I followed her into the room she had just come out of. There was another lady in it; but, except that somehow I knew that she was older than the other, I didn't take any notice of what she was like. 'Now, is there any message which you can give me and which I can deliver to my brother?'
She looked at me so straight, and with such an odd something in her eyes, that I grew more confused than ever.