By this time I heard the footsteps of Mary on her way from the kitchen, and I very naturally passed quickly to the parlor door to intercept and give her my instructions.
"Say that I'm engaged," was on my tongue. But, somehow or other, I had not the courage to give these words utterance. The visitor might be a person to whom such an excuse for not appearing would seem unkind, or be an offence. In this uncertain state, my mind fell into confusion. Mary was before me, and awaiting the direction she saw that I was about giving.
"Say that I'm not at home, if any one asks to see me," came in a sudden impulse from my lips.
And then my cheeks flushed to think that I had instructed my servant to give utterance to a falsehood.
"Yes, mim," answered the girl, glancing into my face with a knowing leer, that produced an instant sense of humiliation; and away she went to do my bidding.
I did not glance towards Agnes, as I returned to my seat and took up my work. I had not the courage to do this. That I had lowered myself in her estimation, I felt certain. I heard the street door open, and bent, involuntarily, in a listening attitude. The voice of a lady uttered my name.
"She's not at home, mim," came distinctly on my ears, causing the flush on my cheeks to become still deeper.
A murmur of voices followed. Then I heard the closing of the vestibule door, and Mary returning to the back parlor where we were sitting.
"Who was it, Mary?" I enquired, as the girl entered.
"Mrs.—Mrs.—Now what was it? Sure, and I've forgotten their names intirely."