The tone revealed a wide gulf between the outlook of Eliza Kelly and that of a confidential retainer in the household of the Duke of Bridport.
"Very well, my dear. But don't bite. Have the last piece of muffin. And then I'll toast another for Constable Maclean."
II
The clock on the chimney-piece struck five. Before its last echo had died there came a loud knock on the front door.
Constable Maclean was a ruddy young Scotsman. He was tall, lean, large-boned, with prominent teeth and ears. Although freckled like a turkey's egg, he was not a bad-looking fellow. His boots, however, took up a lot of space in a small room, and the manner of his entrance suggested that the difficult operation known as "falling over oneself" was in the act of consummation. But there was an intense earnestness in his manner, and a personal force in his look, which gave a redeeming grace of character to a shy awkwardness, verging on the grotesque.
"Good afternune," said Constable Maclean, removing his helmet with a polite grimace.
One of the ladies shook hands, the other welcomed the young man with a cordial good-evening and bade him sit down. Constable Maclean, encumbered with a regulation overcoat, sat down rather like a performing bear.
At first conversation languished. Yet no welcome could have been more cordial than Eliza's. She felt like a mother to this young man. It was her nature to feel
