"Your affectionate guardian,
"John Ash."
"I think that'll do. It will, at any rate, prevent her writing again to-morrow to know if I am ill."
While he was examining, with a certain satisfaction, this example of polite correspondence, a voice was heard inquiring for him in the office without: "Mr. Ash in?"
When Mr. Ash heard the voice, an acidulated expression appeared upon his countenance.
"Ely! What does the fool want here? It's not so very long ago since I very nearly had to hurt his head."
"All right; you needn't trouble him. I'll show myself in."
The owner of the voice did show himself in. He was a dapper little man, with fair hair and a little fair moustache, the ends of which were arranged with the utmost nicety, and a pair of rather washed-out blue eyes, which could, however, look keen enough when they pleased. He was what might be described as a bandbox sort of man. Beautiful grey trousers fitted over exquisite patent shoes. A spotless white waistcoat relieved an irreproachable black coat. His necktie was arranged in an absolutely perfect little bow. His hat gleamed as though it had just that moment left the manufacturer's hands. He carried a metal pencil-case, and one of those long, thin note-books which gentlemen of the Stock Exchange use to enter their bargains in. A diamond ring sparkled on the little finger of his left hand, and in the button-hole of his coat, backed by a sprig of maiden-hair, was a sweet blush-rose.
This beautiful little gentleman seemed to be satisfied with himself and all the world.
"Surprised to see me, I daresay."