For the moment, Mr. Rayburn lost his presence of mind. He looked at the instruments on the side-table.
"Are you a corn-cutter?" was all he could say.
"Excuse me, sir, " returned the polite operator, "the term you use is quite obsolete in our profession." He rose from his knees, and added modestly: "I am a Chiropodist.""I beg your pardon."
"Don't mention it! You are not, I imagine, in want of my professional services. To what motive may I attribute the honor of your visit?"By this time Mr. Rayburn had recovered himself.
"I have come here," he answered, "under circumstances which require apology as well as explanation."Mr. Zant's highly polished manner betrayed signs of alarm; his suspicions pointed to a formidable conclusion--a conclusion that shook him to the innermost recesses of the pocket in which he kept his money.
"The numerous demands on me--" he began.
Mr. Rayburn smiled.
"Make your mind easy," he replied. "I don't want money. My object is to speak with you on the subject of a lady who is a relation of yours.""My sister-in-law!" Mr. Zant exclaimed. "Pray take a seat."Doubting if he had chosen a convenient time for his visit, Mr. Rayburn hesitated.
