Shergold.'
'I'll go upstairs and write a note,' said Munden, in a rather peremptory
voice.
The other drew back and allowed him to pass, but with evident
disinclination. As he entered the room, he saw that she had followed. He
went up to a side-table, on which lay a blotting-book, with other
requisites for writing, and then he stood for a moment as if in meditation.
'Your name is Emma, isn't it?' he inquired, looking at the girl with a
smile.
'Yes, it is.'
'Well then, Emma, shut the door, and let's have a talk. Your mother won't
mind, will she?' he added slyly.
The girl tossed her head.
'I don't see what it's got to do with mother.' She closed the door, but did
not latch it. 'What do you want to talk about?'
'You're a very nice girl to look at, Emma, and I've always admired you when
you opened the door to me. I've always liked your nice, respectful way of
speaking, but somehow you don't speak quite so nicely to-day. What has put
you out?'
Her eyes did not quit his face for a moment; her attitude betokened the
utmost keenness of suspicious observation.
'Nothing's put me out, that I know of.'
'Yet you don't speak very nicely--not very respectfully. Perhaps'--he
paused--'perhaps Mr.
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