Studio Secrets.
“If you please, sir, a lady wants to see you very particularly.”
“A lady, Jacob,” exclaimed Hugh Trethowen, who was in the lazy enjoyment of a cigar and a novel in his sitting-room, at the close of a dull, wet January day. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know, sir. She wouldn’t give her card.”
“Young?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pretty?”
“Well, I suppose I’m not much of a judge at my time of life, Master Hugh,” protested the old servant.
“Get along with you,” laughed his master. “You can yet distinguish a pretty girl from a fossilised hag, I’ll be bound. Show her in, and let’s have a look at her.” Rising, he glanced at himself in the mirror, settled his tie, and smoothed his hair; for the appearance of a lady was an unusual phenomenon at his rooms.
When the door opened he walked towards it to welcome his visitor, but halted halfway in amazement.