The answer came quickly, and not without a curious smile of constraint:
"Oh, no. Mrs. Yardley is in the entry behind."
Bowing his thanks, he stepped in the direction named, just as the three women's heads came simultaneously together. There was reason for their whispers. His figure, his head, his face, were all unusual, and at that moment highly expressive, and coming as he did out of the darkness, his presence had an uncanny effect upon their simple minds. They had been laughing before; they ceased to laugh now. Why?
Meanwhile, Judge Ostrander was looking about him for Mrs. Yardley. The quiet figure of a squat little body blocked up a certain doorway.
"I am looking for Mrs. Yardley," he ventured.
The little figure turned; he was conscious of two very piercing eyes being raised to his, and heard in shaking accents, which yet were not the accents of weakness, the surprised ejaculation:
"Judge Ostrander!"
Next minute they were together in a small room, with the door shut behind them. The energy and decision of this mite of a woman were surprising.
"I was going—to you—in the morning—" she panted in her excitement. "To apologise," she respectfully finished.
"Then," said he, "it was your child who visited my house to-day?"