'Really, ma'am, I do not wish to speak on the subject at present,' whispered Hiram, looking at the crape on his hat.
'But you must, you shall speak. Do you think you can trifle with me, sir?'
Hiram was silent.
'Speak! I say. Do you intend to keep your engagement with my daughter?'
Thus invoked, Hiram murmured something about—'under the circumstances'—his 'great affliction'—'change in your own family'—'business troubles'—'not sure of his own situation'—'perhaps it would be best not to consider it a positive engagement'—'that is, for the present'—'after a season should'—
The street-door bell rang, and Mrs. Tenant heard not another word. Her heart scarcely beat as she listened to the footsteps of the old servant along the hall. Agitated by a rush of tumultuous emotions, she was unable to breathe during the short parley between Emma and the domestic.
At length she heard the welcome sound of Emma's step up the staircase, and she drew a long full breath of relief. Then she started up and rang the bell sharply, yes, furiously, and remained standing till the servant, with quickened pace, came in.
'William, show Mr. Meeker the door.'
Hiram sprang to his feet. He did not like the general look matters were assuming.
'Go,' said Mrs. Tenant, pointing to the entrance.