The shades of evening had begun to fall whilst he talked with the
surgeon. As he advanced up the clerk's garden, some one came out of the
house with a rush and ran against him.
"Take care," he lazily said.
The girl--it was no other than Miss Rebecca Jones--shrank away when
she recognized her antagonist. Flying through the gate she rapidly
disappeared up the street. Lord Hartledon reached the house, and made his
way in without ceremony. At a table in the little parlour sat the clerk's
wife, presiding at a solitary tea-table by the light of a candle.
"How are you, Mrs. Gum?"
She had not heard him enter, and started at the salutation. Lord
Hartledon laughed.
"Don't take me for a housebreaker. Your front-door was open, and I came
in without knocking. Is your husband at home?"
What with shaking and curtseying, Mrs. Gum could scarcely answer. It was
surprising how a little shock of this sort, or indeed of any sort, would
upset her. Gum was away on some business or other, she replied--which
caused their tea-hour to be delayed--but she expected him in every
moment. Would his lordship please to wait in the best parlour, she asked,
taking the candle to marshal him into the state sitting-room.
No; his lordship would not go into the best parlour; he would wait two or
three minutes where he was, provided she did not disturb herself, and
went on with her tea.
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