“Here is a gentleman to see you, father,” explained Miss Hutchins, who had come to the door.  She divined the relative positions of the two visitors at a glance.

“Then why don’t you take him into the parlour?” grumbled the ex-driver.  His face was a testimonial of hard work and general sobriety but at the moment one might hazard from his voice and manner that he had been drinking earlier in the day.

“I don’t think that the gentleman would be impressed by the difference between our parlour and our kitchen,” replied the girl quaintly, “and it is warmer here.”

“What’s the matter with the parlour now?” demanded her father sourly.  “It was good enough for your mother and me.  It used to be good enough for you.”

“There is nothing the matter with it, nor with the kitchen either.”  She turned impassively to the two who had followed her along the narrow passage.  “Will you go in, sir?”

“I don’t want to see no gentleman,” cried Hutchins noisily.  “Unless”—­his manner suddenly changed to one of pitiable anxiety—­“unless you’re from the Company sir, to—­to—­”

“No; I have come on Mr. Carlyle’s behalf,” replied Carrados, walking to a chair as though he moved by a kind of instinct.

Hutchins laughed his wry contempt.

“Mr. Carlyle!” he reiterated; “Mr. Carlyle!  Fat lot of good he’s been.  Why don’t he do something for his money?”

“He has,” replied Carrados, with imperturbable good-humour; “he has sent me.  Now, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“A few questions!” roared the irate man.  “Why, blast it, I have done nothing else but answer questions for a month.  I didn’t pay Mr. Carlyle to ask me questions; I can get enough of that for nixes.  Why don’t you go and ask Mr. Herbert Ananias Mead your few questions—­then you might find out something.”

There was a slight movement by the door and Carrados knew that the girl had quietly left the room.

“You saw that, sir?” demanded the father, diverted to a new line of bitterness.  “You saw that girl—­my own daughter, that I’ve worked for all her life?”

“No,” replied Carrados.

“The girl that’s just gone out—­she’s my daughter,” explained Hutchins.

“I know, but I did not see her.  I see nothing.  I am blind.”

“Blind!” exclaimed the old fellow, sitting up in startled wonderment.  “You mean it, sir?  You walk all right and you look at me as if you saw me.  You’re kidding surely.”

“No,” smiled Carrados.  “It’s quite right.”

“Then it’s a funny business, sir—­you what are blind expecting to find something that those with their eyes couldn’t,” ruminated Hutchins sagely.

“There are things that you can’t see with your eyes, Hutchins.”

“Perhaps you are right, sir.  Well, what is it you want to know?”