The head of the house opened his lips to say something sharp to the office-boy, but the words died as he obeyed a magnetic influence and hazarded a glance at the intruder's face.

"Bless my soul!" said he, staring. An instant later he had recovered himself. "Take my coat, Thomas. Come in, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale. Thank you. Run along, Thomas. This is--ah--a most unexpected pleasure." The door closed behind Thomas. "Pray have a chair, Miss Emsdale. Still quite cold, isn't it?"

"I sha'n't detain you for more than five or ten minutes," said Miss Emsdale, sinking into a chair.

"At your service,--quite at your service," said Mr. Cricklewick, dissolving in the presence of n.o.bility. He could not have helped himself to save his life.

Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save _her_ life she could not think of Cricklewick as anything but an upper servant.

"Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, laying aside her little fur neck-piece.

Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into his brain the voiceless groan: "It's always something." However, he made haste to a.s.sure her that they would not be disturbed. "It is closing time, you see," he concluded, not without hope.

"I could not get here any earlier," she explained. "I stopped in to ask a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick."

"You have only to mention it," said he, and then abruptly looked at his watch. The thought struck him that perhaps he did not have enough in his bill-folder; if not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before the safe was closed for the day.

"Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, a queer little catch in her voice.

"I--I am sorry to hear that," said he.

"And I do not know of any one who is in a better position to help him than you," she went on coolly.

"I shall be happy to be of service to Lord Temple," said Mr.

Cricklewick, but not very heartily. Observation had taught him that young n.o.blemen seldom if ever get into trouble half way; they make a practice of going in clean over their heads.

"Owing to an unpleasant misunderstanding with Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis, he has lost his situation as chauffeur for Mr. Carpenter,"

said she.

"I hope he has not--ahem!--thumped him," said Mr. Cricklewick, in such dismay that he allowed the extremely undignified word to slip out.

She smiled faintly. "I said unpleasant, Mr. Cricklewick,--not pleasant."

"Bless my soul," said Mr. Cricklewick, blinking.

"Mr. Smith-Parvis has prevailed upon Mr. Carpenter to dismiss him, and I fear, between them, they are planning to drive him out of the city in disgrace."

"Bless me! This is too bad."

Without divulging the cause of Smith-Parvis's animosity, she went briefly into the result thereof.

"It is really infamous," she concluded, her eyes flashing. "Don't you agree with me?"

Having it put to him so abruptly as that, Mr. Cricklewick agreed with her.

"Well, then, we must put our heads together, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, with decision.

"Quite so," said he, a little vaguely.

"He is not to be driven out of the city," said she. "Nor is he to be unjustly accused of--of wrongdoing. We must see to that."

Mr. Cricklewick cleared his throat. "He can avoid all that sort of thing, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale, by simply announcing that he is Lord Temple, heir to one of the--"

"Oh, he wouldn't think of doing such a thing," said she quickly.

"People would fall over themselves trying to put laurels on his head,"

he urged. "And, unless I am greatly mistaken, the first to rush up would be the--er--the Smith-Parvises, headed by Stuyvesant."

"No one knows the Smith-Parvises better than you, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, and for some reason he turned quite pink.

"Mrs. Cricklewick and I have seen a great deal of them in the past few years," he said, almost apologetically.

"And that encourages me to repeat that no one knows them better than you," she said coolly.

"We are to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Parvis tonight," said Mr.

Cricklewick.

"Splendid!" she cried, eagerly. "That works in very nicely with the plan I have in mind. You must manage in some way to remark--quite casually, of course,--that you are very much interested in the affairs of a young fellow-countryman,--omitting the name, if you please,--who has been dismissed from service as a chauffeur, and who has been threatened--"

"But my dear Miss Emsdale, I--"

"--threatened with all sorts of things by his late employer. You may also add that you have communicated with our Amba.s.sador at Washington, and that it is your intention to see your fellow-countryman through if it takes a--may I say leg, Mr. Cricklewick? Young Mr. Smith-Parvis will be there to hear you, so you may bl.u.s.ter as much as you please about Great Britain protecting her subjects to the very last shot. The entire machinery of the Foreign Office may be called into action, if necessary, to--but I leave all that to you. You might mention, modestly, that it's pretty ticklish business trying to twist the British lion's tail. Do you see what I mean?"

Mr. Cricklewick may have had an inward conviction that this was hardly what you would call asking a favour of a person, but if he had he kept it pretty well to himself. It did not occur to him that his present position in the world, as opposed to hers, justified a rather stiff reluctance on his part to take orders, or even suggestions, from this penniless young person,--especially in his own sacred lair. On the contrary, he was possessed by the instant and enduring realization that it was the last thing he could bring himself to the point of doing. His father, a butler before him, had gone to considerable pains to convince him, at the outset of his career, that insolence is by far the greatest of vices.

Still, in this emergency, he felt constrained to argue,--another vice sometimes modified by circ.u.mstances and the forbearance of one's betters.

"But I haven't communicated with our Amba.s.sador at Washington," he said.

"And as for the Foreign Office taking the matter up--"

"But, don't you see, _they_ couldn't possibly know that, Mr.

Cricklewick," she interrupted, frowning slightly.

"Quite true,--but I should be telling a falsehood if I said anything of the sort."

"Knowing you to be an absolutely truthful and reliable man, Mr.

Cricklewick," she said mendaciously, "they would not even dream of questioning your veracity. They do not believe you capable of telling a falsehood. Can't you see how splendidly it would all work out?"

Mr. Cricklewick couldn't see, and said so.

"Besides," he went on, "suppose that it should get to the ears of the Amba.s.sador."

"In that event, you could run over to Washington and tell him in private just who Thomas Trotter is, and then everything would be quite all right. You see," she went on earnestly, "all you have to do is to drop a few words for the benefit of young Mr. Smith-Parvis. He looks upon you as one of the most powerful and influential men in the city, and he wouldn't have you discover that he is in anyway connected with such a vile, underhanded--"

"How am I to lead up to the subject of chauffeurs?" broke in Mr. Cricklewick weakly. "I can hardly begin talking about chauffeurs--er--out of a clear sky, you might say."

"Don't begin by talking about chauffeurs," she counselled. "Lead up to the issue by speaking of the friendly relations that exist between England and America, and proceed with the hope that nothing may ever transpire to sever the bond of blood--and so on. You know what I mean.

It is quite simple. And then look a little serious and distressed,--that ought to be easy, Mr. Cricklewick. You must see how naturally it all leads up to the unfortunate affair of your young countryman, whom you are bound to defend,--and _we_ are bound to defend,--no matter what the consequences may be."