Brympton.
"What were you doing out so early?" he says, looking hard at me.
"Early--me, sir?" I said, in a tremble.
"Come, come," he says, an angry red spot coming out on his forehead,
"didn't I see you scuttling home through the shrubbery an hour or
more ago?"
I'm a truthful woman by nature, but at that a lie popped out
ready-made. "No, sir, you didn't," said I, and looked straight back
at him.
He shrugged his shoulders and gave a sullen laugh. "I suppose you
think I was drunk last night?" he asked suddenly.
"No, sir, I don't," I answered, this time truthfully enough.
He turned away with another shrug. "A pretty notion my servants have
of me!" I heard him mutter as he walked off.
Not till I had settled down to my afternoon's sewing did I realize
how the events of the night had shaken me. I couldn't pass that
locked door without a shiver. I knew I had heard someone come out of
it, and walk down the passage ahead of me. I thought of speaking to
Mrs. Blinder or to Mr. Wace, the only two in the house who appeared
to have an inkling of what was going on, but I had a feeling that if
I questioned them they would deny everything, and that I might learn
more by holding my tongue and keeping my eyes open. The idea of
spending another night opposite the locked room sickened me, and
once I was seized with the notion of packing my trunk and taking the
first train to town; but it wasn't in me to throw over a kind
mistress in that manner, and I tried to go on with my sewing as if
nothing had happened.
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