Perhaps it was better for him as it was; and the blow came to him with a rapidity which created less of suffering than might have followed the slower mode of proceeding which he had intended.  He was actually making the fifth copy of the letter, rendered necessary by that violent full stop, when Matthew came to him and announced that Miss Thoroughbung was in the drawing-room.  “In the house!” ejaculated Mr. Prosper.

“She would come into the hall; and then where was I to put her?”

“Matthew Pike, you will not do for my service.”  This had been said about once every three months throughout the long course of years in which Matthew had lived with his master.

“Very well, sir.  I am to take it for a month’s warning, of course.”  Matthew understood well enough that this was merely an expression of his master’s displeasure, and, being anxious for his master’s welfare, knew that it was decorous that some decision should be come to at once as to Miss Thoroughbung, and that time should not be lost in his own little personal quarrel.  “She is waiting, you know, sir, and she looks uncommon irascible.  There is the other lady left outside in the carriage.”

“Miss Tickle!  Don’t let her in, whatever you do.  She is the worst.  Oh dear! oh dear!  Where are my coat and waistcoat, and my braces?  And I haven’t brushed my hair.  And these slippers won’t do.  What business has she to come at this time of day, without saying a word to anybody?” Then Matthew went to work, and got his master into decent apparel, with as little delay as possible.  “After all,” said Mr. Prosper, “I don’t think I’ll see her.  Why should I see her?”

“She knows you are at home, sir.”

“Why does she know I’m at home?  That’s your fault.  She oughtn’t to know anything about it.  Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear!” These last ejaculations arose from his having just then remembered the nature of his postscript to Harry Annesley, and the engagement of Joe Thoroughbung to his niece.  He made up his mind at the moment,—­or thought that he had made up his mind,—­that Harry Annesley should not have a shilling as long as he lived.  “I am quite out of breath.  I cannot see her yet.  Go and offer the lady cake and wine, and tell her that you had found me very much indisposed.  I think you will have to tell her that I am not well enough to receive her to-day.”

“Get it over, sir, and have done with it.”

“It’s all very well to say have done with it.  I shall never have done with it.  Because you have let her in to-day she’ll think that she can come always.  Good Lord!  There she is on the stairs!  Pick up my slippers.”  Then the door was opened, and Miss Thoroughbung herself entered the room.  It was an up-stairs chamber, known as Mr. Prosper’s own:  and from it was the door into his bedroom.  How Miss Thoroughbung had learned her way to it he never could guess.  But she had come up the stairs as though she had been acquainted with all the intricacies of the house from her childhood.