“He is engaged?” I inquired. Then—though hardly aware why I put the question—I added: “There is someone with him?”
She peered about her.
“He’ll be no engaged to you, sir,” she replied. Plainly, it was not her lodger’s instructions that prompted the words; by the way she hung back I discerned that she dreaded to announce me; she hoped I would go in and explore alone.
“I’ll wait in the sitting-room till he comes out,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation. And I moved towards the door.
Mrs. Garnier, however, at once made an involuntary gesture to prevent me. I can still hear her slippered tread shuffling across the oil-cloth. The gesture became a sort of leap when she saw that I persisted. It reminded me of a frightened animal.
“There’ll be twa gentlemen already waiting,” she mumbled thickly, her face turning a shade paler.
And, hearing this, I paused. The old woman, I saw, was trembling. I was annoyed at the interruption, for it destroyed the sense of delightful peace I had enjoyed.
“Anyone I know?”
I was close to the door as I asked it, the terrified old woman close beside me. She thrust her grey face up to mine; her eyes shone in the gleam of the low-turned gas jet above our heads; and her excitement communicated itself suddenly to my own blood. A distinct shiver ran down my back.