Marlow.  I was looking for Mr. John, sir.

Barthwick.  What d’ you want Mr. John for?

Marlow. [With hesitation.] I thought I should find him here, sir.

Barthwick. [Suspiciously.] Yes, but what do you want him for?

Marlow. [Offhandedly.] There’s a lady called—­asked to speak to him for a minute, sir.

Barthwick.  A lady, at this time in the morning.  What sort of a lady?

Marlow. [Without expression in his voice.] I can’t tell, sir; no particular sort.  She might be after charity.  She might be a Sister of Mercy, I should think, sir.

Barthwick.  Is she dressed like one?

Marlow.  No, sir, she’s in plain clothes, sir.

Barthwick.  Did n’t she say what she wanted?

Marlow.  No sir.

Barthwick.  Where did you leave her?

Marlow.  In the hall, sir.

Barthwick.  In the hall?  How do you know she’s not a thief—­not got designs on the house?

Marlow.  No, sir, I don’t fancy so, sir.

Barthwick.  Well, show her in here; I’ll see her myself.

[Marlow goes out with a private gesture of dismay.  He soon returns, ushering in a young pale lady with dark eyes and pretty figure, in a modish, black, but rather shabby dress, a black and white trimmed hat with a bunch of Parma violets wrongly placed, and fuzzy-spotted veil.  At the Sight of Mr. Barthwick she exhibits every sign of nervousness.  Marlow goes out.]

Unknown lady.  Oh! but—­I beg pardon there’s some mistake—­I [She turns to fly.]

Barthwick.  Whom did you want to see, madam?

Unknown. [Stopping and looking back.] It was Mr. John Barthwick I wanted to see.

Barthwick.  I am John Barthwick, madam.  What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?

Unknown.  Oh!  I—­I don’t [She drops her eyes.  Barthwick scrutinises her, and purses his lips.]

Barthwick.  It was my son, perhaps, you wished to see?

Unknown. [Quickly.] Yes, of course, it’s your son.

Barthwick.  May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?

Unknown. [Appeal and hardiness upon her face.] My name is——­oh! it does n’t matter—­I don’t want to make any fuss.  I just want to see your son for a minute. [Boldly.] In fact, I must see him.

Barthwick. [Controlling his uneasiness.] My son is not very well.  If necessary, no doubt I could attend to the matter; be so kind as to let me know——­

Unknown.  Oh! but I must see him—­I ’ve come on purpose—­[She bursts out nervously.] I don’t want to make any fuss, but the fact is, last—­last night your son took away—­he took away my [She stops.]