In the middle of a nocturne of Chopin's the door was opened, and a young
man was shown into the room.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "you are Miss Longworth?"
She rose at once from the piano seat. He was not dressed for the
evening, and he carried a felt hat in his hand. Nevertheless his bearing
was pleasant enough, and he seemed to her a gentleman.
"I am Miss Longworth," she answered. "You want to see my uncle, I
suppose? They have made a mistake in showing you in here."
"Not at all," he answered, with an ingratiating smile. "I know that your
uncle is very busy, so I took the liberty of asking to see you. It is
such a simple matter I required, that it was not worth while
interrupting him. My name is Carr, and I am on the _World_. There was
just an ordinary question or two I was going to put to your uncle, but
you can answer them just as well if you will."
"You mean you are a reporter?" she asked.
"That's it," he assented. "Odd sort of life in a way, because it sends
us round seeking sometimes for the most trivial information. For
instance, your uncle had a dinner-party to-night, and I have stepped
round for a list of the guests.
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