“No, I will see her myself.”
But Miss Mitford, who had been the indirect cause of so much trouble, once more interposed. She had listened to him with scarcely less surprise than that developing in Mrs. Varney’s breast. She took a malicious joy in thwarting the Secret Service Agent. She barred the way, her slight figure in the door, with arms extended.
“Where is your order for this?” she asked.
Arrelsford stared at her in surprise.
“Get out of my way,” he said curtly; “I have a word or two to say to you after I have been upstairs.”
“Show me your order,” persisted the girl, who made not the slightest attempt to give way.
“It’s Department business and I don’t require an order.”
“You are mistaken about that,” said Caroline with astonishing resourcefulness. “This is a private house, it isn’t the telegraph office or the Secret Service Department. If you want to go upstairs or see anybody against their will, you will have to bring an order. I don’t know much, but I know enough for that.”
Arrelsford turned to Mrs. Varney.
“Am I to understand, madam,” he began, “that you refuse——”