This was the end of the argument, and I arrived at it precisely as I reached a turn of the staircase that led to my bedroom. Justine was at this instant coming down with a basket in her arms far too wide for the narrow landing: the corner was exceedingly dark and inconvenient. In common humanity I could not but stop to assist her. Not very self-possessed at the best of times, I am afraid my efforts were of the clumsiest. Between us, we got the basket in the angle of the two walls. I was inside of it, and could not possibly get out: Justine could not very well leave me imprisoned. She laughed a good deal, and blushed and pulled as hard as she could. I, too, pushed vigorously, but it struck me Justine was remarkably pretty, and that of all places in the world this was the most whimsical for a conversation with a strange young woman of lively manners and prepossessing exterior. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII MISS MERLIN AT length, by our joint efforts, the basket was extricated and placed upon its—what shall I say?—on its right end, in the landing. The pretty maid smoothed her hair and adjusted her collar, somewhat creased by her exertions. I made an effort to recover the usual dignity of my demeanour, conscious that I was, to a certain extent, in a false position, yet resolved to make the best of it. “Thank you,” said I, somewhat bashfully, as well as breathlessly. “Thank _you_, sir,” said Justine; laughing, I thought, rather roguishly. “Dear! how you’ve rumpled your collar,” I observed, with perfect innocence. Justine glanced reproachfully in my face, as she smoothed the collar down with a remarkably pretty hand, and, tilting the offending basket on the bannisters, paused for a space, as if to “get her wind” before proceeding any further. In a few minutes the process would be accomplished, and Justine would take wing and fly away. I should never have such an opportunity again—at least not for a considerable period. The basket, in all probability, contained articles of wearing apparel, either going to or coming from the wash. Without being a family man, I was aware such an occurrence did not usually take place more than once a week. I should have another seven days to wait before so favourable an opportunity would arise again. Stimulated by this reflection I accosted Justine with considerable energy. I am not sure that I did not take her by the hand. “Can I speak a word with you, mademoiselle?” said I, in trembling tones. I do not know why I called her Mademoiselle, except that I was flurried and eager, and inclined to be supremely polite. “Not now, sir,” replied Justine, sinking her voice, to my great alarm, incontinently to a whisper. “Some other time, Mr. Softly” (she had got my name already): “not now, sir, _pray_. I hear somebody coming!”