Miss Alice was suddenly attentive. When she spoke again, she asked, “Why do you not find out something about this Silsbie—who died—or was hung—or something of that kind?”
“Child!” said Mrs. Rightbody, “don't you see there was no Silsbie, or, if there was, he was simply the confidant of that—woman?”
A knock at the door, announcing the presence of Mr. Ryder and Stanislaus Joe with the horses, checked Mrs. Rightbody's speech. As the animals were being packed, Mrs. Rightbody for a moment withdrew in confidential conversation with Mr. Ryder, and, to the young lady's still greater annoyance, left her alone with Stanislaus Joe. Miss Alice was not in good temper, but she felt it necessary to say something.
“I hope the hotel offers better quarters for travellers than this in summer,” she began.
“It does.”
“Then this does not belong to it?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Who lives here, then?”
“I do.”
“I beg your pardon,” stammered Miss Alice, “I thought you lived where we hired—where we met you—in—in—You must excuse me.”