; and this permission I conceived to be dictated merely
by regard to my convenience. It was incumbent on me, therefore, to take
some pains to deliver the script into her own hands.

I arrived at the house and knocked. A female servant appeared. "Her
mistress was up-stairs; she would tell her if I wished to see her," and
meanwhile invited me to enter the parlour; I did so; and the girl
retired to inform her mistress that one waited for her. I ought to
mention that my departure from the directions which I had received was,
in some degree, owing to an inquisitive temper; I was eager after
knowledge, and was disposed to profit by every opportunity to survey the
interior of dwellings and converse with their inhabitants.

I scanned the walls, the furniture, the pictures. Over the fireplace was
a portrait in oil of a female. She was elderly and matron-like. Perhaps
she was the mistress of this habitation, and the person to whom I should
immediately be introduced. Was it a casual suggestion, or was there an
actual resemblance between the strokes of the pencil which executed this
portrait and that of Clavering? However that be, the sight of this
picture revived the memory of my friend and called up a fugitive
suspicion that this was the production of his skill.

I was busily revolving this idea when the lady herself entered. It was
the same whose portrait I had been examining. She fixed scrutinizing and
powerful eyes upon me. She looked at the superscription of the letter
which I presented, and immediately resumed her examination of me. I was
somewhat abashed by the closeness of her observation, and gave tokens of
this state of mind which did not pass unobserved. They seemed instantly
to remind her that she behaved with too little regard to civility. She
recovered herself and began to peruse the letter. Having done this, her
attention was once more fixed upon me. She was evidently desirous of
entering into some conversation, but seemed at a loss in what manner to
begin. This situation was new to me and was productive of no small
embarrassment. I was preparing to take my leave when she spoke, though
not without considerable hesitation:--

"This letter is from Mr. Welbeck--you are his friend--I
presume--perhaps--a relation?"

I was conscious that I had no claim to either of these titles, and that
I was no more than his servant. My pride would not allow me to
acknowledge this, and I merely said, "I live with him at present,
ma