The lady's attitude became more tense and the pupils
of her handsome grey eyes dilated.
"Has a young female just entered this shop?" said a very heavy and
rumbling voice.
"This ain't a shop, sir," replied the high soprano of the young
librarian, indignantly.
"Bandy no words with me, thou infamous malapert!" returned the first
voice. "But answer my question. Have you a young female concealed within
these loathsome precincts?"
Under ordinary circumstances it is very possible that the young
librarian might have betrayed the lady as he had already betrayed
Malkiel the Second. But it happened that there existed upon the earth
one object, and one object only, towards which he felt a sense of
chivalry. This object was Jellybrand's Library. His reply to the voice
was therefore as follows, and was delivered in his highest key and with
extreme volubility and passion:--
"Loathsome precincts yourself! You're a nice one, you are, chasing
respectable ladies about at your age. There ain't no young females in
the library, and if there was I shouldn't trot 'em out for you to clap
your ugly old eyes on. Now then, out yer go. No more words about it. Out
yer go!"
A prolonged sound of hard breathing and of feet scraping violently upon
bare boards followed upon this deliverance, complicated by the sharp
snap of a breaking walking stick, the thump of a falling chair, a bang
as of a heavy body encountering firm resistance from some inflexible
article of furniture--probably a bookcase--and finally a tremendous
thundering, as of the hoofs of a squadron of cavalry charging over
a parquet floor, the crash of a door, the grinding of a key swiftly
turning in a lock, and--silence.
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