"Is it a parent?" asked Miss Nellie.
The maid's eyebrows twitched, and she looked faintly grieved, as all good servants do when they are forced to consider someone whom they cannot acknowledge as their superior.
"No, ma'am, he doesn't look like a parent," she complained.
"He really is a very queer-lookin' sort of person, ma'am. I wouldn't know exactly where to place him. Shall I say you are out, ma'am?"
"Yes," said Miss Eva. "No doubt he wants to sell an encyclopedia."
"No, let him come in," said Miss Nellie. "It might be a reporter about Madame d'Avala," she added, turning to her sister. "Sometimes they look queer."
"If it turns out to be an encyclopedia I shall leave you at once," said Miss Eva. "You are so kind-hearted that you will look through twenty-four volumes, and miss your dinner——"
But the gentleman who came in carried no books, nor did he look like one who had ever been associated with them. Carefully dressed in the very worst of taste from his scarfpin to his boots, he had evidently just been too carefully shaved, for there were scratches on his wide, ludicrous face, and his smile was as rueful as a clown's.
"The Misses Blair, I presume?" he asked in what was unmistakably his society manner, and he held out a card.
Miss Eva took it and read aloud, "Mr. Bert Brannigan, Brannigan and
Bowers, Black-Face Comedians."