Utterly at variance with all precedent, the bewitching look produced no effect whatever. The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button, and then went over to where Miss Willis was sitting. Before he could speak––if he had any such intention––a girl in starched cap and apron appeared in answer to his ring.
“Miss Willis has concluded not to remain,” he informed the maid. “Show Number Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her that I will see her in two minutes.” Producing his watch, he deliberately marked the time.
He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with an air which said as plainly as words could have said it: “It’s a terrible waste of precious time, but if necessary I’ll sacrifice the two minutes to humoring any further caprices you may develop.”
This was too much for the young lady’s tranquillity: she laughed, and laughed frankly.
“Pray tell me,” she managed to say, “what my number is.” 400
Without the slightest alteration in his serious mien, he consulted a list hanging beside his desk.
“Seven,” he announced at length.
“Oh!”
“Why?” quickly. “Has there been some mistake?”
“No––oh, no”; Miss Willis was now perfectly composed. “I had a feeling, though, that it must have been nearer seven thousand.”