At this stage of the conversation, Mr. Obenreizer's film came over him.
"The object of my present visit," said Vendale, "is, I need hardly say,
to assure you of the friendliness of Wilding and Co., and of the goodness
of your credit with us, and of our desire to be of service to you. We
hope shortly to offer you our hospitality. Things are not quite in train
with us yet, for my partner, Mr. Wilding, is reorganising the domestic
part of our establishment, and is interrupted by some private affairs.
You don't know Mr. Wilding, I believe?"
Mr. Obenreizer did not.
"You must come together soon. He will be glad to have made your
acquaintance, and I think I may predict that you will be glad to have
made his. You have not been long established in London, I suppose, Mr.
Obenreizer?"
"It is only now that I have undertaken this agency."
"Mademoiselle your niece--is--not married?"
"Not married."
George Vendale glanced about him, as if for any tokens of her.
"She has been in London?"
"She _is_ in London."
"When, and where, might I have the honour of recalling myself to her
remembrance?"
Mr. Obenreizer, discarding his film and touching his visitor's elbows as
before, said lightly: "Come up-stairs."
Fluttered enough by the suddenness with which the interview he had sought
was coming upon him after all, George Vendale followed up-stairs. In a
room over the chamber he had just quitted--a room also Swiss-appointed--a
young lady sat near one of three windows, working at an embroidery-frame;
and an older lady sat with her face turned close to another white-tiled
stove (though it was summer, and the stove was not lighted), cleaning
gloves.
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