It was extremely warm—a sultry July day—as we toiled up to the turnery department. At the corner of the stairs, a young man, who was flying down at breakneck speed, brushed against Emma; he paused for a second to lift his hat and apologize, then exclaimed in quite another key—a key of cordial pleasure. “Why, it’s Mrs. Hayes, I declare! Where did you drop from? I am delighted to see you!” As we were blocking up the landing, I moved on, and waited at the top of the stairs, leaving Emma and her newly discovered old friend—a friend who was sincerely glad to meet her—still conversing [42]with great animation. Yes, I could read it in his gestures, and the expression of his back. He was tall and square-shouldered, his long frock-coat and shining top-hat adding to his stature. So far I had not caught a glimpse of his face. Presently they turned and ascended together, still talking volubly. I believe that he imagined Emma to be alone, until she said, as she put her hand on my arm— [42] “This is my step-daughter, Miss Hayes.” He glanced at me politely, then his casual glance suddenly changed into a long scrutinizing gaze of astonishment—no, not of admiration, merely unqualified amazement. He was a good-looking young man, with a somewhat thin, aristocratic face, brown hair, brown eyes, and a light, reddish-brown mustache. “I used to know your father, Miss [43]Hayes. My people and I stayed with him in India, you know.” [43] I did not know—how should I? “He was awfully good to me, and took me out shooting and elephant-catching.” Then, suddenly turning to Emma, he said, “What are you going to do now? It is one o’clock. Will you come and have lunch with me at the club, or will you lunch here?” “Oh, here, thank you, since we are on the spot; and I am told that the curries are celebrated.” “All right, then, we will try the curry. Allow me to relieve you of your parcels.” In another second, and despite our vehement expostulations, this smart young man was actually carrying our beef, butter, and candles,
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