Myles made no answer, for the information did not seem to him of any particular importance; but Wilson went on, in a voice which had grown by anticipation smooth and respectful, ‘I expect she wants to see Mr. Sutcliffe, and he’s out. So she’ll have to put up with me.’ With that he stepped up to a square of looking-glass, which he retained despite all Myles’s gibes and jeers, over the mantelpiece, and smoothed his hair. ‘And Myles, lad, as Mrs. Mallory’s coming, and may have business to speak about, perhaps you’d better----’ ‘Go?’ said Myles, tranquilly, though the suggestion was highly irritating to him. ‘That I’m not going to do, old chap. I’ve got these figures to write down; and here I stay and write them, if fifty Mrs. Mallorys were coming.’ Wilson made no answer. Myles’s position was too near his own for him to be able to order him out of the office; but, not quite satisfied, he waited, snatching up bundles of papers and sample cops, shoving an empty skip aside, and endeavouring to make the rough office look a little tidier. ‘What a pity,’ remarked Myles, sarcastically, ‘that you haven’t got a few evergreens and some paper roses. I’d invest in a few, if I were you, and keep them in the cupboard, ready for such an occasion as this.’ With which he seated himself at the desk in the window, which commanded a view of the street, and began to write. Wilson walked up and down, watching the carriage as it drew nearer, and Myles felt contemptuous and superior. ‘She’s got Miss Spenceley in the carriage with her,’ observed Wilson, reconnoitring over Myles’s head. ‘They go a deal together, those two.’ Myles looked up sharply as he heard this. The carriage had stopped; Wilson had rushed to open the door. Myles saw the open carriage standing at the gates, and how one lady sat waiting while the other got out. The face of the waiting lady was turned towards the office. ‘Miss Spenceley’--the sister of the man who had displayed his contemptible character to Adrienne Blisset the other night. It was not likely that Myles should glance at her with very amiable or respectful feelings. He saw a graceful figure leaning nonchalantly back in the carriage; he had a general impression of a brilliantly beautiful brunette face, large dark eyes, an extremely elegant costume, a hat, or bonnet, with a waving plume, a parasol covered with lace--and that was all. But he had long sight; he saw none of her brother’s expression on the girl’s countenance, which was frank and open, as well as beautiful. ‘I’d bet something they don’t get on well together,’ he thought; and then he heard a silk dress rustle over the threshold, and a woman’s voice answering indifferently Wilson’s profuse salutations. Myles could not help looking up, though he tried not to do so. He had often seen Mrs. Mallory before; but she had never seen him. Now she was looking full at him.