“These are fine manners,” cried the maid. “And what, if you please, may be his name?”
“It is the General, my master,” answered Harry. “He is after this bandbox.”
“Did not I tell you?” cried the maid in triumph. “I told you I thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur; and if you had an eye in your head you might see what she is for yourself. An ungrateful minx, I will be bound for that!”
The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, and his passion growing with delay, began to kick and beat upon the panels of the door.
“It is lucky,” observed the girl, “that I am alone in the house; your General may hammer until he is weary, and there is none to open for him. Follow me!”
So saying she led Harry into the kitchen, where she made him sit down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate attitude, with a hand upon his shoulder. The din at the door, so far from abating, continued to increase in volume, and at each blow the unhappy secretary was shaken to the heart.
“What is your name?” asked the girl.
“Harry Hartley,” he replied.
“Mine,” she went on, “is Prudence. Do you like it?”
“Very much,” said Harry. “But hear for a moment how the General beats upon the door. He will certainly break it in, and then, in heaven’s name, what have I to look for but death?”