"No," Sir Hervey answered curtly; he was not deceived by this apparent obtuseness. "I wish, I tell you, to see the young lady who came here with a gentleman last night. She came here from Davies Street."
"There is a lady here," the clock-maker answered, slowly. "But I don't know that she will see any one."
"She will see me," Coke replied with decision. "You don't want me to summon her friends, and cause a scandal, I suppose?"
"Well, sir, for her friends," Grocott answered, smiling unpleasantly, "I know nothing about them, begging your honour's pardon. And, it is all one to me whom she sees. If you'll give me your name, sir, I'll take it to her."
"Sir Hervey Coke."
"Dear, dear, I beg your honour's pardon, I am sure," Grocott exclaimed, bowing and wriggling obsequiously. "It's not to be thought that she'll not see a gentleman of your honour's condition. But I'll take her pleasure if you'll be so good as to wait a minute."
He left Coke standing on the threshold, and retreated up the passage to the door of a room on the left. Here he went in, closing the door after him. Sir Hervey waited until he was out of sight, then in three strides he reached the same door, lifted the latch, and entered.
"'Twill take him finely, Sal!"
The words were in the air--they were all he caught, then silence; and he stood staring. Abrupt as had been his entrance, he was the most completely surprised of the three. For the third in the room, the lady to whom Grocott's words were addressed, was not Sophia, but a stranger; a tall, handsome woman, with big black eyes, fashionably dressed and fashionably painted. The surprise drew from her a hasty exclamation; she rose, her eyes sparkling with anger. Then, as Sir Hervey, recovering from his astonishment, bowed politely, she sat down again with an assumption of fineness and languor. And, taking a fan, she began to fan herself.
"A thousand pardons, madam," Coke said. "I owe you every apology. I came in under a misapprehension. I expected to find a friend here."