He was not a bad sort. He seemed scared at the sight of me.
“I don’t want to do anything to you. Only what’s the good of making a fuss? You know he’s master here.”
“And, because he’s master here, I suppose, if he tells you to behave like a miserable coward, you would?”
“What’s the use of talking? If he says you’ve got to go, you’ve got to, and there’s an end of it. You take my advice, and don’t be silly.”
“Silly! Your advice! When I ask you for your advice, you give it, not before.”
I stood and glared. I do not think he altogether liked the look of me; I am sure that had he touched me I should have flown at him, and I rather suspect he knew it. While he hesitated I heard someone speaking in loud tones in the office from which we had just now been ejected. It was a man’s voice.
“I want to see Miss Blyth.”
It was Mr. Slaughter who replied.
“I say you can’t see Miss Blyth, so you have my answer, sir.”
“But that is an answer which I am unable to accept. I must see Miss Blyth, and at once, on a matter of grave importance.”
“Don’t talk to me, sir; my time is valuable. This is neither the hour nor the place at which we are accustomed to allow a stranger to see the young women in our employ. And as, in any case, this particular young woman is no longer in our employ, I repeat that you cannot see Miss Blyth.”
“Oh, yes, you can—for here is Miss Blyth.”
Darting past the porter, who seemed pretty slow-witted, I was back again in the office. A stranger was confronting the indignant Mr. Slaughter. I had just time to see that he was not old, and that he was holding a top hat, when he turned to me.
