“You had no right to look in there. You could be of no use in such a case, besides you know perfectly well that you were keeping me waiting. I want to retire to rest. A pretty time of night truly for you to be gallivanting about—you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
The girl had not confined herself strictly to the truth. Female domestics who hold midnight audiences with life guardsmen seldom do; but part of her story was correct enough.
She had called at Mrs. Fowler’s house and seen that lady, but she did not remain with her for more than five minutes at the outside.
Ethel, who was a cunning little puss, sought to change the subject, and an admirable opportunity occurred for her doing so.
She caught sight of the shattered jewel-box, and immediately uttered a faint scream.
“Oh, missis, something’s amiss. What has happened?”
“A burglar has entered the house,” returned her mistress, “and I might have been robbed and murdered.”
“A burglar!” cried the girl. “Oh, mercy upon us, and what has become of him?”
“He has made his escape. I caught him in the act of abstracting the jewels from the case, and at the sight of me he sprang through the window and made off. I have reason to be thankful that no worse has happened.”
“Well, I never heard of such audacity!” exclaimed Ethel. “The daring scoundrel!”