"Well, she's gone and you can't reach her to-night. There they are now, see! about a quarter of the way across. That small boat just slipping across the wake of the big one."
Mr. Gryce looked and saw that she was in the way of escape for to-night.
"When can I get over?" he asked.
"Not till Phil crosses again to-morrow noon."
"Meanwhile, she may go anywhere. I shall certainly lose her."
"Hardly. She's bound for the factory; you can just see the roof of it above the trees a little to the right. She asked me all sorts of questions about the work over there, and whether there were decent places to live in within walking distance of the factory."
"Then she isn't lame? My woman is a trifle lame."
"So may this woman be, for all I know. I didn't see her on her feet, but she carried no crutch—only a bag and an umbrella."
"A brown bag, neat like herself in appearance?"
"No. It was light in color and old. She herself was neat enough."