"Now," she cried, as she did so, "never again—no, never, will I have any thing to do with this affair; there's twice I have been nearly caught. No, never again!" and she dropped, really exhausted from emotion, into a chair.
"My dear Gillett," coaxed Minnie, putting a hand on her shoulder, "don't be angry; was it our fault that uncle came down? What shall we do without you?"
"You do not mean it—do you, Mrs. Gillett?" asked Miles, drawing a chair near her, and trying to catch the hand she drew pettishly away.
"Yes, but I do, though," she crossly answered; "and as for you, I really don't think you have behaved so well to me; you deceived me about Lady Dora, you——"
"You deceived yourself, dear Mrs. Gillett. Come, be just."
"Well, you didn't contradict me? No; I've been deceived, and nobody cares for me. Who would have thought of master coming sneaking down at this hour? drat his green tea!" and, as she spoke, she rose and began searching every where, in her pockets, and on the table, chairs, sofa—every place. Poor Minnie, half in despair, whispered Miles—"Don't say any more to-night; she is cross: I know her humour. Leave her to herself; it will be all right to-morrow."
"What are you whispering about, Miss Minnie?" cried the crabbed woman, turning towards where they stood, his hand clasping both hers. "Ugh!" she continued, twisting away again, "it's all very pleasant, love-making, I daresay. You don't care for me, or any thing else. I want to know where's the key?"
"What key?" asked the really innocent Minnie.
"What key? why, the one of your door, to be sure. Musn't I lock you up? and how are you to get in without the key?"
Miles bit his lip to conceal a smile; he was quite resolved, unless in a case of absolute necessity, to keep it—why? he had not asked himself. Neither he nor Minnie felt the least alarm; they were again like two children their trouble over, all smiles.