The silence was broken by the sound of carriage wheels crunching up the drive. Rachel came to a standstill in the middle of the room, and listened with a rigid intensity of expectation that was quite as painful to her companion as her more demonstrative emotion had been.
They heard the bustle of Mrs. Hardy's arrival, heard John open the front door, heard the sweep of silken draperies in the hall. And then they heard a familiar voice, raised several notes above its ordinary pitch.
"John!"
"Yes'm."
"When did this gentleman call?"
"About an hour after you left'm."
"Did you tell him we were all out?"
"Yes'm. And he'll call again to-morrow, he says."
"Oh, indeed—will he! You'll just tell him, whenever he calls, that I am not at home, John—that nobody is at home. Do you hear? That gentleman is not to be admitted."
"Oh, you stupid woman!" Mrs. Reade sighed to herself, not meaning to be disrespectful, but grudging to see delicate work marred by inartistic hands.