‘Anything wrong?’ I asked, affecting a complete calm.
It was evident that the good creature had lost her head, as she sometimes did, when I gave her too much to copy, or when the unusual occurred in no matter what form. The excellent Emmeline was one of my mistakes.
‘Mr. Ispenlove is here,’ she whispered.
None of us spoke for a few seconds. Mary Ispenlove stared at me, but whether in terror or astonishment, I could not guess. This was one of the most dramatic moments of my life.
‘Tell Mr. Ispenlove that I can see nobody,’ I said, glancing at the wall.
She turned to go.
‘And, Emmeline,’ I stopped her. ‘Do not tell him anything else.’
Surely the fact that Frank had called to see me before nine o’clock in the morning, surely my uneasy demeanour, must at length arouse suspicion even in the simple, trusting mind of his wife!
‘How does he know that I am here?’ Mary asked, lowering her voice, when Emmeline had shut the door; ‘I said nothing to the servants.’
I was saved. Her own swift explanation of his coming was, of course, the most natural in the world. I seized on it.