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_"
The colour rushed into Alfred's face, and he started to his feet; some
vague instinct told him to be gone from this place.
The lady fixed her eyes on him, put her hand to a gold chain that was
round her neck, and drew out of her white bosom, not a locket, nor a key,
but an ivory whistle. Keeping her eye steadily fixed on Alfred, she
breathed softly into the whistle. Then two men stepped quietly in at the
door; one was a short, stout snob, with great red whiskers, the other a
wiry gentleman with iron-grey hair. The latter spoke to Alfred, and began
to coax him. If Mrs. Archbold was honey, this personage was treacle. "Be
calm, my dear young gentleman; don't agitate yourself. You have been sent
here for your good; and that you may be cured, and so restored to society
and to your anxious and affectionate friends."
"What are you talking about? what do you mean?" cried Alfred; "are you
mad?"
"No, _we_ are not," said the short snob, with a coarse laugh.
"Have done with this fooling, then," said Alfred sharply; "the person I
came to see is not here; good morning.


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