"It's me, Lady Mary!" said I. "The O'Ruddy, who begs the privilege of a word with you."
I heard the slam of a window being shut, then the sound of a light step across the floor, and after that she said with a catch in her voice,—
"I'll be pleased you should come in, Mr. O'Ruddy."
I tried the door, but found it locked.
"How can I come in, Lady Mary," says I, "if you've got bolts held against me?"
"There are no bolts," said Lady Mary; "the key should be on the outside. I am locked in. Look for the key and open the door."
Was ever a more delightful sentence spoken to a man? My heart was in my throat with joy. I glanced down, and there, sure enough, stuck the key. I turned it at once, then pulled it out of the lock and opened the door.
"Lady Mary," says I, "with your permission, it seems to me a door should be locked from the inside."
With that I thrust the key through the far side of the door, closed it, and locked it. Then I turned round to face her.
The room, it was plain to be seen, was the parlour of a lady,—a boudoir, as they call it in France, a word that my father was very fond of using, having caught it when he was on the campaign in that delightful country. The boudoir was full of confections and charming little dainties in the way of lace, and easy chairs, and bookcases, and little writing-desks, and a work-basket here and there; but the finest ornament it possessed was the girl who now stood in the middle of the floor with a frown on her brow that was most becoming. Yes, there was a frown on her brow, although I expected a smile on her lips because of the cordial invitation she had given me to come in.