I put one of my second set of
six letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it to attract her
curiosity, by means of its solitary position, apart from the rest. A
second letter I put purposely on the floor in the breakfast-room. The
first servant who went in after me would conclude that my aunt had
dropped it, and would be specially careful to restore it to her. The
field thus sown on the basement story, I ran lightly upstairs to scatter
my mercies next over the drawing-room floor.
Just as I entered the front room, I heard a double knock at the
street-door--a soft, fluttering, considerate little knock. Before I
could think of slipping back to the library (in which I was supposed
to be waiting), the active young footman was in the hall, answering the
door. It mattered little, as I thought. In my aunt's state of health,
visitors in general were not admitted. To my horror and amazement, the
performer of the soft little knock proved to be an exception to
general rules. Samuel's voice below me (after apparently answering some
questions which I did not hear) said, unmistakably, "Upstairs, if
you please, sir." The next moment I heard footsteps--a man's
footsteps--approaching the drawing-room floor.
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