have struck him with a clenched fist, would have choked him like a cat. . . .
Both were again sitting at their work. The old servant entered the room to announce the janitor, her basilisk eyes all the time measuring Lucy, who was bending over her sewing. The man stepped after her into the room, holding his cap under his arm. He hemmed, and his grey eyes rested upon Lucy,—a dumb terror made them bulge out, but only for a moment. Like a messenger of great things, he assumed a solemn pose:
“Madam, three times to-day a certain person has asked for our young gentleman. I got rid of him: ‘He is not at home.’—‘When will he be back?’—Said I: ‘I do not know.’ Then he kept asking for a young lady. I think he meant that one there . . . that young lady there. Madam, it is a dreadful thing I have come to see you about. It is a disgrace, a deception, a frightful sin that the young gentleman has perpetrated
