Mr. Mott stood for a few seconds staring at him, and then without a word turned on his heel and went upstairs. Left to himself, Mr. Hurst walked nervously up and down the room, and, catching sight of his face in the old-fashioned glass on the mantel-piece, heightened its colour by a few pinches. The minutes seemed inter-minable, but at last he heard the steps of Mr. Mott on the stairs again.
“She’s coming down to see you herself,” said the latter, solemnly.
Mr. Hurst nodded, and, turning to the window, tried in vain to take an interest in passing events. A light step sounded on the stairs, the door creaked, and he turned to find himself con-fronted by Miss Garland.
“Uncle told me!” she began, coldly. Mr. Hurst bowed.
“I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” he said, trying to control his voice, “but you see my position, don’t you?”
“No,” said the girl.
“Well, I wanted to make sure,” said Mr. Hurst. “It’s best for all of us, isn’t it? Best for you, best for me, and, of course, for my young lady.”
“You never said anything about her before,” said Miss Garland, her eyes darkening.
“Of course not,” said Mr. Hurst. “How could I? I was engaged to you, and then she wasn’t my young lady; but, of course, as soon as you broke it off—”
“Who is she?” inquired Miss Garland, in a casual voice.