Next day she told him.
"Miss Driver is at Harbridge."
"In service?"
"No; at home. They live there. Her father is a Custom-house officer."
That evening Harold informed his mother that important business called him away. She remonstrated. How could he leave the house while Miss Fanshawe was still there? What was the business? At least he might tell his mother; or it might wait. She could not allow him to leave.
Mere waste of words; Harold was off next morning to Harbridge, and Phillipa reported progress to her co-conspirator.
"It promises well," said Gilly. "I may be able to muzzle that scoundrel after all."
CHAPTER V.
A quaint old red-sandstone town; the river-harbour crowded with small craft, but now and again, like a Triton among the minnows, a timber-brig or a trading-barque driven in by stress of weather. When the tide went out—as it did seemingly with no intention of coming back, it went so far—the long level sands were spotted with groups of fisherfolk, who dug with pitchforks for sand-eels; while in among the rocks an army of children gleaned great harvests of a kind of seaweed, which served for food when times were hard.