“Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?” asked Cynthia.
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply. “What should there be?” Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going into the dining-room, she called to her to bring some stamps into the boudoir.
“Yes, m’m.” The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: “Don’t you think, m’m, you’d better get to bed? You’re looking very tired.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Dorcas—yes—no—not now. I’ve some letters I must finish by post-time. Have
As she left the room, Miss Howard’s face changed. She leant towards me eagerly.
“Mr. Hastings, you’re honest. I can trust you?”
I was a little startled. She laid her hand on my arm, and sank her voice to a whisper.
“Look after her, Mr. Hastings. My poor Emily. They’re a lot of sharks—all of them.