"What do you want here?"

The man was a well-bred English servant. In other words, a human
machine, doing its duty impenetrably when it was once wound up. He had
his words to speak, and he spoke them.

"There is a lady at the door, Sir, who wishes to see the house."

"The house is not to be seen at this time of the evening."

The machine had a message to deliver, and delivered it.

"The lady desired me to present her apologies, Sir. I was to tell you
she was much pressed for time. This was the last house on the house
agent's list, and her coachman is stupid about finding his way in
strange places."

"Hold your tongue, and tell the lady to go to the devil!"

Mr. Delamayn interfered--partly in the interests of his client, partly
in the interests of propriety.

"You attach some importance, I think, to letting this house as soon as
possible?" he said.

"Of course I do!"

"Is it wise--on account of a momentary annoyance--to lose an opportunity
of laying your hand on a tenant?"