“A gentleman is coming,” said Emilia, by no means intimidated, though the forehead of Mr. Pericles looked portentous.  “He was bringing me to you.”

“Zen, jomp in!” cried Mr. Pericles.

Here Sir Purcell came up.

Emilia said softly:  “Mr. Pericles.”

There was the form of a bow of moderate recognition between them, but other hats were off to Emilia.  The two gentlemen who had offended Sir Purcell had insisted, on learning the nature of their offence, that they had a right to present their regrets to the lady in person, and beg an excuse from her lips.  Sir Purcell stood white with a futile effort at self-control, as one of them, preluding “Pardon me,” said:  “I had the misfortune to remark to my friend, as I passed you, ‘There she is.’  May I, indeed, ask your pardon?  My friend is an artist.  I met him after I had first seen you.  He, at least, does not think foolish my recommendation to him that he should look on you at all hazards.  Let me petition you to overlook the impertinence.”

“I think, gentlemen, you have now made the most of the advantage my folly, in supposing you would regret or apologize fittingly for an impropriety, has given you,” interposed Sir Purcell.

His new and superior tone (for he had previously lost his temper and spoken with a silly vehemence) caused them to hesitate.  One begged the word of pardon from Emilia to cover his retreat.  She gave it with an air of thorough-bred repose, saying, “I willingly pardon you,” and looking at them no more, whereupon they vanished.  Ten minutes later, Emilia and Sir Purcell were in the chambers of Mr. Pericles.

The Greek had done nothing but grin obnoxiously to every word spoken on the way, drawing his hand down across his jaw, to efface the hard pale wrinkles, and eyeing Emilia’s cavalier with his shrewdest suspicious look.

“You will excuse,”—­he pointed to the confusion of the room they were in, and the heap of unopened letters,—­“I am from ze Continent; I do not expect ze pleasure.  A seat?”

Mr. Pericles handed chairs to his visitors.

“It is a climate, is it not,” he resumed.

Emilia said a word, and he snapped at her, immediately adding, “Hein?  Ah! so!” with a charming urbanity.

“How lucky that we should meet you,” exclaimed Emilia.  “We were just coming to you—­to find out, I mean, where you were, and call on you.”

“Ough! do not tell me lies,” said Mr. Pericles, clasping the hollow of his cheeks between thumb and forefinger.

“Allow me to assure you that what Miss Belloni has said is perfectly correct,” Sir Purcell remarked.

Mr. Pericles gave a short bow.  “It is ze same; I am much obliged.”

“And you have just come from Italy?” said Emilia.

“Where you did me ze favour to send me, it is true.  Sanks!”

“Oh, what a difference between Italy and this!” Emilia turned her face to the mottled yellow windows.