"You oaf," I said good-humoredly to Bob, "that's the reason of her being so white. She has been ten hours without food."
Bob clapped his hand to his forehead. "I am an ass," he said.
"You ain't," said Sophy, promptly, "and it ain't what made me white. But I shouldn't turn my back on a bit of grub."
"And a bit of grub you shall have," said Bob, "the moment we are in our room. I've got the right side of the landlady. Cold meat and pickles always on tap for Bob Tucker."
In the room Bob was as good as his word. A cold supper was spread before Sophy, and a glass of weak brandy and water mixed for her. She ate with avidity, and while she was thus employed Bob turned his attention to me.
"My diary comes in handy here," he said, and he pushed the book toward me. "You will find everything entered, saves a world of talk."
I skimmed through the pages till I reached yesterday's date, under which I found my departure for London duly recorded, the brief entry being:
"Agnold restless. Gone to London. For no particular reason--but gone."
Further on the record of the present day:
"Six P.M. Just returned from Tylney House. A surprising number of stones thrown by Sophy, otherwise Maria. She usually throws three or four, never more than five, including pellet in white paper, denoting happiness and safety. But this afternoon, quite a shower, including four pellets in white paper. Counted altogether eighteen. Does it mean anything? Wait till to-morrow. Logical interpretation, that things going on more satisfactorily than ever. Something discovered, perhaps. A thousand pities Sophy, otherwise Maria, cannot read or write. If the latter, could obtain positive information. When this particularly clever girl comes out she must begin to learn immediately. Talents must have a fair chance. Cruel they should be wasted. See to it. Singular no letter from Agnold. But did not promise to write."