‘I’ve disposed of him,’ quoth Lucilla; ‘he’ll not trouble us again.’
‘Which way is he gone?’
‘I would not tell you if I knew.’
‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ he petulantly answered; ‘I want
nothing of the fellow, only to know whether he is clean gone. Are you sure whether he went by Bray?’
‘I told you I neither knew nor cared.’
‘Could you have believed, Owen,’ said Rashe, plaintively, ‘that she was so absurd as never even to tell him to inquire for our boxes?’
‘Owen knows better;’ but Lucilla stopped, surprised to see that his thoughts were again astray. Giving a constrained smile, he asked, ‘Well, what next?’
‘To find our boxes,’ they answered in a breath.
‘Your boxes? Didn’t I tell you I’ve got them here?’