“He says so,” I replied. “Perhaps he tells the truth.”
“And you? O Kitty! to think of you only a year ago!”
“There is no doubt about me,” I said; “for, oh! dear Mrs. Dunquerque, I am head over ears in love with him. Yet I will so contrive that he shall not know me, if you will help.”
“And what can I do?”
“Make his acquaintance; go and see him; tell him that he must want some one to do for him; offer to send him your maid Phœbe—yes, Phœbe. Then I will go, and, if he speaks to me, which is not likely, I will answer in a feigned voice. Go, now, Mrs. Dunquerque. I will dress for Phœbe.”
She laughed and went away.
My lord lifted his head as she knocked at the door.
“I ask your pardon, sir,” she said, “for this intrusion. I live above you, upon the second-floor, with my husband and children. I suppose, sir, that, like the rest of us in this place, you come here because you cannot help it, and a pity it is to find so young a gentleman thus early shipwrecked.”
“I thank you, madam,” said my lord, bowing, “for this goodwill.”
“The will is nothing, sir, because people in misfortune ought to help each other when they can. Therefore, sir, and because I perceive that your room is not what a gentleman’s should be, being inch thick with dust, I will, with your permission, send down my maid when you go out, who may make you clean and tidy.”