"Young miss," he said, pausing deferentially at the door, "may I come
in?"
She smiled up at him--a proceeding which was generally sufficient to
throw Bones into a pitiful condition of incoherence. But this morning
it had only the effect of making him close his eyes as though to shut
out a vision too radiant to be borne.
"Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she asked quickly and anxiously.
"It's nothing, dear old miss," said Bones, passing a weary and
hypocritical hand across his brow. "Just a fit of the jolly old
staggers. The fact is, I've been keeping late hours--in fact, dear
young miss," he said huskily, "I have been engaged in a wicked old
pursuit--yes, positively naughty...."
"Oh, Mr. Tibbetts"--she was truly shocked--"I'm awfully sorry! You
really shouldn't drink--you're so young...."
"Drink!" said the hurt and astounded Bones. "Dear old slanderer!
Poetry!"
He had written sufficient poetry to make a volume--poems which abounded
in such rhymes as "Marguerite," "Dainty feet," "Sweet," "Hard to beat,"
and the like. But this she did not know.
By this time the girl was not only accustomed to these periodical
embarrassments of Bones, but had acquired the knack of switching the
conversation to the main line of business.
"There's a letter from Mr. de Vinne," she said.
Bones rubbed his nose and said, "Oh!"
Mr. de Vinne was on his mind rather than on his conscience, for Mr. de
Vinne was very angry with Bones, who, as he had said, had "niped" in
and had cost Mr. de Vinne £17,500.
"It is not a nice letter," suggested the girl.
"Let me see, dear young head-turner," said Bones firmly.
The letter called him "Sir," and went on to speak of the writer's years
of experience as a merchant of the City of London, in all of which,
said the writer, he had never heard of conduct approaching in infamy
that of Augustus Tibbetts, Esquire.
The letter went on to express the writer's intention of taking
vengeance for the "dishonest squeeze" of which he had been the victim.
Bones looked at his secretary anxiously. The censure of Mr. de Vinne
affected him not at all. The possible disapproval of this lady filled
him with dire apprehension.
"It's not a nice letter," said the girl. "Do you want me to answer it?"