"Bless my soul!" said he, staring. An instant later he had recovered himself. "Take my coat, Thomas. Come in, Lady—er—Miss Emsdale. Thank you. Run along, Thomas. This is—ah—a most unexpected pleasure." The door closed behind Thomas. "Pray have a chair, Miss Emsdale. Still quite cold, isn't it?"
"I sha'n't detain you for more than five or ten minutes," said Miss Emsdale, sinking into a chair.
"At your service,—quite at your service," said Mr. Cricklewick, dissolving in the presence of nobility. He could not have helped himself to save his life.
Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save her life she could not think of Cricklewick as anything but an upper servant.
"Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, laying aside her little fur neck-piece.
Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into his brain the voiceless groan: "It's always something." However, he made haste to assure her that they would not be disturbed. "It is closing time, you see," he concluded, not without hope.
"I could not get here any earlier," she explained. "I stopped in to ask a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick."
"You have only to mention it," said he, and then abruptly looked at his watch. The thought struck him that perhaps he did not have enough in his bill-folder; if not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before the safe was closed for the day.
"Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, a queer little catch in her voice.
